


First Bite

by The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff



Series: Fire-verse [4]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz in eyeliner, Birthday Sex, Bloodplay, But also secretly thinks it's cute, Clubbing, Drunk Dancing, Fluff, Food Blogger Simon, I do not go into graphic detail about the blood but maybe avoid if you're squeamish, I'm squeamish & I wrote it so it probably isn't that bad, In case that isn't clear, M/M, Penny is done with the incessant flirting, Sexual Content, This is the one where Baz bites Simon for the first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:33:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff
Summary: Set nine months after the events ofA Pair of Splendid Morons, Simon & Baz have just moved in together. Simon's 20th birthday's coming up, which seems as good a time as any to ask Baz for a little something extra in bed: a bite.Baz is...inclined to agree.But first? A night out on the town.(Can be read independently fromA Pair of Splendid Morons; I tell you all you need to know in my notes.)(Also I'm still awful at summaries.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostintheverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostintheverse/gifts), [purlgurly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purlgurly/gifts), [SHARKMARTINI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHARKMARTINI/gifts).



> A warning - You've probably already deduced that this story will involve blood. As a squeamish person myself, I personally didn't have an issue writing it. HOWEVER, if you think this will trigger you in some way then this is your opportunity to exit stage left.
> 
> Also, the sex in this story is a little more... _intense_ than what you're used to from me. So there's that. Apologies to my parents.
> 
> This story also follows up on a plot point touched on in my other story, [A Pair of Splendid Morons.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786282/chapters/41964572) Spoilers ahead in the next paragraph.
> 
> Spoilers now...
> 
> Okay.
> 
> Heyyyyy remember that time in [A Pair of Splendid Morons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786282/chapters/41964572) where Simon was a moron (unsurprisingly) & cut his lip on Baz's teeth? And then there was angst. And then that confession. And now, well. Here I am to bring you the first bite. 
> 
> If you have not read [APoSM](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786282/chapters/41964572) & would like to read this without reading that, here is some information about my particular timeline that is of importance here:
> 
> 1\. In order to Turn someone, a vampire must actually secrete their venom into the victim. Consciously. A bite on its own will not do the job.  
> 2\. That's basically the only point. I felt dumb only having one point so I made two.  
> 3\. Wait, here's another. Baz already had, like, enough of a mental breakdown & self-loathing about this whole thing in the previous story. I'm not really going to touch on that in this one. He's had nine months to think about this.

**BAZ**

 

I climb the four flights of stairs to the flat with the last box of my things from Fiona’s tucked under my arm.

The door’s unlocked, but there’s no sign of Simon when I let myself in. It’s not like it’s a big place, and he’s definitely here - I can smell something cooking. Simon doesn’t leave things unattended in the kitchen for long.  

I set the box next to the bookshelf (my bookshelf) in the lounge, then consider going back outside and casting an **Open sesame** on the front door. Just for _fun._ Then Simon will come out from wherever he’s hiding - “ _Welcome home, love_ ,” - and we can have a shag wherever we bloody well want to because this is _our_ flat, now.

Bunce’s American lad - _Micah_ \- decided to move to London after all when he came to visit in the spring. He arrived just a few days ago, Bunce moved out, and the four of us have been constantly flitting back and forth between three flats for miscellaneous odds and ends left behind. Like my last box of books. I don’t mind.

I’m about to go looking for Simon when he emerges from Bunce’s old bedroom. It's empty, now; we're thinking of turning it into a small library, an office. Somewhere to get work done. Simon closes the door behind him; I don’t think he’s spotted me yet.

It’s still a bit of a shock to see him this way, not swathed in crimson. He had his wings and tail removed by Dr Wellbelove a few months ago. A part of me misses them - I think a part of Simon does, too - but he’s more comfortable this way. More independent. He doesn’t have to rely on Bunce or me to spell him invisible whenever he wants to leave the flat. And with all the attention his blog gets from the Normals these days, wings and a tail weren't exactly an option anymore.

“Snow,” I say, and he grins, crossing to me with a few easy steps. He pulls my face down into one of his expert kisses and I melt against him. Nearly a year and a half together and I’m still bloody _melting._

“Hey,” he says against my mouth.

“Hey yourself, Snow,” I say. When I pull back to look at him, his eyes are red, a little swollen. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, just having a moment. Oh, fucking hell.” He jogs to the kitchen even though it’s only a few paces away. I follow him at a walk. “Forgot about these,” he says as he pulls a tray of scones from the oven. Simon never runs out of scones.

They look fine to me, but I’m not the foodie in this relationship. “Well, they don’t look ruined, do they?” I say.

“A bit overdone. S’fine.” He turns his back to me and switches off the oven. I come up behind him - _that_ is a good thing that’s come without the wings - and press a kiss to the back of his neck. My lips leave a trail of gooseflesh there. He sighs and turns to face me, pulls my hips into his, reaches up for my mouth.

He whispers, “D’you wanna?”

I smile against his lips.

 

>>>

 

Afterwards, I hold him against my chest and let him cry some more.

He's been prone to crying lately, which isn't to say he isn't happy. It's just that things that would normally frustrate him set him off instead. The surgery was hard on him - a combination of the anesthetic and losing the last visible remnant of his magic, I think. And now Bunce is gone, moved in with the person she's likely to marry. In all likelihood she and Simon will never live together again.

“My therapist...she says it's normal.” He sniffs. “Not _Normal_. You know. A new chapter of my life. All that shit.” He props his chin on my chest so he can look at me.

“Yeah, love,” I say. “And Bunce is in the same city. That's better than America.”

“Loads.” He sniffs again and sits up with his back to me, wipes his cheeks with the heel of one hand. I run my palm along the ridges of scar tissue on his back where his wings used to be. “I dunno. I'm under a bit of stress too, I think. Things are going well, you know? There's more to lose when things are going well.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” I say. (Bold of me to think he's talking about me at all, but I do like to indulge myself now and again.) “Told you I wouldn't change my mind. And you've got Bunce, and Micah. All your friends you made in your marketing courses. All those strangers on the Internet who love your food.” He looks over his shoulder at me.

“I _know_. That's all the good stuff I have to lose.”

I pull on his arm till he gets the hint and crawls on top of me. “ _And,”_ I say, “your birthday's only a few days off. I won't be able to tell people I'm dating a teenager anymore.”

He snorts into my neck. “Do you?”

“For the shock factor.”

“Right.”

“What do you want, anyway? I haven't gotten you anything yet.”

“You don't have to get me _anything_ ,” he says.

It's my turn to snort now. Simon's had a lifetime of shit birthdays. The least I can do is get him a bloody gift.

I say, “That's a load of tosh.”

“No. You get me things all the time.”

“Not birthday gifts.”

“You moved in with me.”

I think, _Is he saying_ I'm _a gift?_

I say, “We've lived together before, Snow. Remember?”

“Not like this,” he says, and he kisses me for emphasis. It's gentle, and soft, and _mine._ Only mine. There are days I still can't believe it.

No, _not like this._ I'd have gotten fuck-all done in school if it had been like this. Come to think of it, I don't know how I'm going to get my schoolwork done _now_ (I'm taking summer courses online) or next term. Or the term after. Maybe I'll have to make a No-Snow-in-the-Office rule.

When Simon pulls away, he presses a kiss to the side of my neck and rests his head there. I wrap my arms around him. That's nice, too; having access to the full expanse of his back. My fingertips trace the warm constellation of moles along his spine, his ribs.

I say, “Well. I know it's difficult for you, but _think_ about it. I want to get you something.”

“Hm,” he hums. He pulls back to look at me. He's got his bottom lip pulled into his mouth. (I can't see the scar that way. The scar I put there.)(I like to see it. Because, well. I'm disturbed.) “Well.” He hesitates, then, “You don't have to _buy_ me anything.”

We just stare at each other for a moment, him sucking on his lip, me trying to find out how high I can arch an eyebrow.

I break the silence. “Are you asking what I think you're asking?”

He hums again and shrugs.

He hasn't brought this up since September. To be fair he hasn't brought it up now, either. I've _deduced._

Simon wants me to bite him.

And I want to.

And I've never been able to deny him anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21st June, 2017  
> Part 1

**BAZ**

 

The only reason I’m considering this at all is because we already know my fangs can’t Turn a person on their own. We discovered that little detail through our own brilliant stupidity.

My fangs pop when Simon’s inside me, and I didn’t realize at first (how, I don't know; probably I was too busy focusing on the fact that _Simon Snow was inside me_ ), and my boyfriend is a moron who’s turned on at the sight of them. So he kissed me, while they were out. He kissed me so hard that he sliced his lip open on my teeth.

It bled. A lot. And he let me take it.

And then he admitted that he wants me to bite him, while we’re in bed.

And, well.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to.

I told him I’d have to think it over. I’ve been thinking it over for nine months, now.

I try not to berate myself for wanting it. Simon says I shouldn't. That it's okay, if it's something we both want. Something we do together. (He said that at the time, I mean. When I had a breakdown after taking his blood.)

I want to believe him - I think I _do_ believe him - but that doesn't make me any less nervous about the whole idea. There's no room for mistakes, no room for getting carried away. One slip, and…

I don't want to think about it.

That's why I haven't brought the idea up again since the first time. Because no matter how much he wants me to, and no matter how much I want to please him, and no matter how much _I_ want it, too - Simon's safety comes first.

I've told Simon that this whole fascination with being bitten could just be a fantasy. It's _going_ to hurt. He bloody well thinks he still wants it, moronic madman that he is.

As it is, curiosity's gotten the better of me.

I've already proved to myself that I can stop. When Simon cut his lip, I took what was there and left the rest. But my fangs weren't _inside_ him, then.

So I've tried it a few times, since. Biting and stopping, I mean. There were deer to hunt while I was in Yorkshire with my family for Christmas, so I tested myself, let the deer walk away after I'd bitten them. (Well. They more...leapt and bounded away. More a danger to me than I realized, this little experiment. I spelled them calm, after the first.) It was easier than I thought it'd be, to stop. Sort of like when you haven't had enough to eat. You aren't _hungry_ , exactly, but you want more.

Simon isn't a deer. Obviously. But the concept is the same, really. And if I'm smart about _where_ I bite him...

I suspect things would go fine, especially if I actually drank my fill _before_ we got in bed. It'd at least make things easier for me.

This is what I'm thinking about when I wake up to a half-empty bed and the smell of Simon's black pudding.

It's Simon's birthday today.

And I think I might bite him.

 

**SIMON**

 

We're going out for my birthday. Baz, Penny, Micah, and me.

I told them we didn't have to do anything, but they all keep saying it's a big deal that I'm not a teenager anymore, even if we don't actually know how old I am. (That's what was written on my arm, 21/6/1997. So I guess we'll just trust whoever wrote it. I don't really have another option, do I? Maybe that's why I don't feel like my birthday's a big deal.) We're going for dinner, and drinks, and dancing, which could be fun. Though I can't picture Penelope and Micah in a club.

Stranger things have happened, I guess. And Micah's well chuffed that the drinking age is lower here. (I can't picture Micah pissed, either, but.)

Come to think of it, I can’t picture _me_ in a club, either. I _can_ picture me pissed, though.

I think I'm going to get myself well sozzled, even if it means I'll be depressed tomorrow.

Maybe that isn't the best idea, but getting hammered and having a good fuck just sounds bloody brilliant, doesn't it? Not that I haven’t already had a good fuck today. I _have._ Right on the kitchen counter after breakfast. That’s new. (Having sex on the counter, I mean.)(Baz was on the counter, anyway.)

Ever since Baz moved in a few days ago, we’ve been going at it almost as much as we did when we first started, back in September. We found a bunch of old Watford ties when we were unpacking a box of his things yesterday, then we took turns tying each other to the bedposts and pretending we were in Mummers Tower. _That_ was fun.

Anyway. I'll deal with tomorrow _tomorrow._

Baz is hogging the bathroom right now, of course.

I wonder if he's going to bite me.

I didn't _ask_ , exactly, but I think he got my meaning. Fuck, I want him to. I think I might be vaguely disturbed.

Whatever.

I'm dressed nice enough, I think. (I've never gone out to a club before. When the _fuck_ would I have done? I think the closest I've gotten was when we went to that vampire bar, and that wasn't exactly fun, was it? Even if Baz did look cool. And fit. Kissed him afterwards, didn't I?) I'm wearing dark fitted jeans (snugger than I’d usually wear, but I feel like antagonizing Baz tonight, so) and a blue button-up shirt - _cornflower?_ \- that Baz says brings out my eyes. (Whatever that means; he likes it, anyway. He bought it for me.)

It's easier to be out in public and close spaces without my wings and tail knocking into everything. I don't miss how bloody annoying they were, but I still sort of miss them anyway. They were the last bit of magic I had.

Well. I suppose I _am_ dating a mage. A vampire mage. An incredibly fit vampire mage. I’ve not lost all my magic if I look at it that way, have I?

I’m sat on the couch replying to all my happy birthday messages from my Instagram followers - I still can’t bloody believe all these strangers actually _care_ about my life - when Baz walks out of the bathroom.

I stare at him. I can't help it.

“Like what you see, Snow?” he says. _Obviously_. His hair’s pulled back the way I like. He wears it out like that, sometimes; I think I’ve convinced him that people can’t see his scar when they’re at a respectable distance (which they can’t). (Personally I like to be at a _disrespectable_ distance around Baz when he does his hair this way. It’s elegantly messy, with bits and pieces falling around his face. I always love slipping the elastic off and letting his hair fall down before we fuck.)

I stand up. Baz cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Cat got your tongue?” He loves to say that. I think - I _know_ \- he enjoys watching me flinch, the prat.

“You’re. You’re wearing a _suit_ ,” I say. Shiny black shoes, slim black trousers, a black shirt, and a black jacket with a pattern of blood-red flowers sewn into the fabric. It’s perfectly tailored, too, just like all his suits. It hits him in all the right places and I can’t properly decide if I’d like to keep looking at him or tear his clothes off.

“I am,” he says. “Astute as always, Snow.”

“Oh, piss off,” I say, and I close the gap between us and reach up for his lips. He holds me by the waist and pulls my scarred lip into his mouth; I give a surprised hum when he nips it with his teeth. Fucking hell, is he _actually_ thinking about biting me tonight?

I pull away because I have to. If I don't, I'm going to end up undoing everything he's done to get ready.

He smirks at me, and I'm just thinking about how pretty his eyes are when I realize…

“Are you.” I squint at him. “Are you wearing _eyeliner_?”

He lifts an eyebrow instead of answering me. He _is._ His eyes are shining silver, rimmed with black. Fucking hell.

He bends and kisses the mole on my neck. “I'm going to drink, and then we need to be on our way.”

I watch him as he heads for the kitchen. His trousers really bring out his arse.

 

**BAZ**

 

We've barely spotted Bunce and Micah outside Simon's favorite curry place when Simon practically throws himself into her arms. He told me he was bad at hugging once. I've not the slightest idea what he meant by it.

“You'd think they haven't seen each other in months,” Micah says. He holds out his hand for me to shake. I do. “You’re always so _cold_ , dude.” (I drank before we left the flat, but just one container’s worth. It wasn’t enough to raise my temperature all that much. I’ll have more when we get back tonight. _Before._ ) I don't think Micah knows about me. Not yet. Bunce wouldn't tell him without asking first, I don't think. He's an alright bloke and I like him well enough, but it's still too soon.

I just shrug. I've found that Simon's strategy of using shrugs as sentences is sometimes beneficial.

Micah says, “Nice suit,” at the same time Bunce asks me what the fuck I'm wearing.

I say, “It's _designer_.”  (Jacquard fabric. Lovely. I thought the red was appropriate for the occasion. If I'm going to bite Simon, that is. I think I might.)

Bunce says, “We’re going to Soho, Basil, not some posh dinner.” She tilts her head, squints at me from behind her glasses. “You wearing makeup?”

“Come put a curry in it, Bunce,” I say, and I hold the door open for them.

When we get our food, I take a few bites to coax my fangs out and then head to the loo to spell them invisible. Useful, that droid spell. Even if those movies were completely abysmal.

There’s a Normal washing his hands so I look myself over in the mirror while I wait for him to leave. This really is a great suit. Blood-red flowers on black, black lapels with a lovely sheen. I’ve a penchant for florals lately.

I wonder if the eyeliner’s too much.

It was an experiment, really. I wanted to see if I could make Snow hard before we left the flat. (I did.)(That plan backfired, anyway. I had to really focus on heating my blood so I could get my mind off my cock, but then drinking just made me think of how much _better_ Simon tastes. How good he'll taste tonight, if I bite him. I think I might. And once I'd calmed down from _that_ thought, he was walking around the flat in those new jeans of his. He's got a perfect arse.) He snogged me against the kitchen counter when I was done drinking, even though I hadn't brushed my teeth yet. (I always like to brush my teeth after I drink, at least if I'm planning on having a snog.) Of course that just reminded me of what he did to me on the counter earlier today, and... _well._

I don't know why I'm thinking about all this now. I need to stop if I don't want to be hard in public.

Bloody perfect Snow. _Simon._ My Simon.

I pull my wand from the inside pocket of my jacket and cast **These aren't the droids you're looking for** on my fangs, then I adjust my trousers and make my way back to our table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the fun begin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21st June, 2017  
> Part 2

**PENELOPE**

 

I remember when I used to think Simon and I wouldn't even make it to the far end of nineteen.

Now we're both at the start of our twenties, happy and healthy. Blank pages waiting to be filled. It's a gift, really.

It’s been good, having Micah here. It doesn’t feel _real_ yet, not exactly. Our new flat doesn’t feel like _ours_. It’s not been long enough.

He and Simon still get along swimmingly. And he and Basil do, too, actually. I don’t know why I was worried about it to begin with. (To be fair, Baz _can_ be a bit hard to swallow at first. And Micah knew him at Watford. I suppose I _do_ know why I was worried to begin with.) They’ve been talking a lot about Spanish spells. Micah’s brilliant at them; his Spanish is flawless. (He learnt from his mum; she’s Hispanic. He’s teaching me.) And Basil's got a soft spot for linguistics; he'll tell anyone that he can speak spells in four languages. Or maybe that was Simon who told me that; I can’t recall.

I think Simon's in a good place. He has his moments still, but so does everyone, don't they? I never would've moved out if I thought he wasn't okay. And if he didn't have Basil.

Bizarre, that, being comfortable leaving Simon in the hands of Baz Pitch.

It's not that Simon can't take care of himself, but he _needs_ people. He always has done. And it's always exhausted me.

Basil’s the one who insisted we take Simon dancing. He was driving me somewhere in the Jag when he brought it up; I don’t remember where we were going. I think it was the day we moved most of my things to the new place. Probably I’d left something behind at his and Simon’s.

Strange to think of Baz Pitch as a friend. A _good_ one. A friend who drives you around London when you’ve forgotten something. (After berating you for forgetting it, of course.)

“ _Basil,_ ” I said, “ _Y_ _ou do realize Simon_ can't _dance_.”

“ _Doesn't matter. He doesn’t have to be good at it to enjoy it. That's not the_ point, _anyway._ ”

“ _And what_ is _the point, then?”_

 _“To get him out. He's home all day with his cooking and his camera since uni let out. Which he_ loves, _but it's still work. I want him to let loose for a few hours. Have some fun. He and I try to have fun now on principle.”_

That _is_ true. _Having fun_ seems to be their main objective since Simon came out of the funk he was in after the Mage died. Since he lost his magic. Since being given a chance at a normal life. At love.

Well, as normal a life you can get when your boyfriend’s a vampire, anyway.

Even that isn't much a point of conversation anymore. Basil spells his fangs invisible in public and drinks his pig's blood at home. I'm sure he helps out with all the squirrels in Hyde Park now and again. Or maybe he can't be bothered. Maybe he’s too busy revising and _having fun_ these days. Why go to the trouble when your food blogger boyfriend can just buy you blood from the butcher’s?

No, he must still hunt sometimes, at least. I’d think it’d be instinctual, the urge to bite. I haven’t asked. It may not be as much of a sore subject anymore, but that doesn’t mean I _should._ I do have _some_ couth.

“ _So, Bunce. Dinner. Drinks. Dancing. What do you say?”_ he said.

I still wasn’t completely sure. It’s not really _my_ scene, but it isn’t _my_ birthday, is it? I agreed, in any case, even if I do think this might just be some plot of Basil’s to get Simon to grind on him. These two, _honestly_.

They were giving each other the eye all through dinner. And on the tube. I think it must be bloody exhausting, being them. And neither of them are nearly as subtle as they think they are.

Basil, bless him, has really vamped himself up for the occasion. If you got it, flaunt it, I guess. He actually does look good with the eyeliner. I'm not the only one who thinks so, clearly. Simon can't take his eyes off Baz even when they _aren't_ giving each other the eye.

Basil's plotting... _something_ ; I can see it in his eyes. I understand why Simon always thought so, now. He just misunderstood the context.

We climb out from the underground at Piccadilly Circus. Basil leads the way; he knows where we're going. Simon trails just behind him, probably so he can stare at Baz's arse. Merry Morgana, I don't know how I'm going to make it through the night.

Micah bumps me with his shoulder as he takes my hand. “Ready to get jiggy wit it, _cariña_?”

I snort. “Maybe after a few cocktails.”

“I could go for a good gin and tonic,” he says, then winks at me. I scrunch my nose at him.

“No tequila for you, then?”

He squeezes my hand and scoffs playfully. “That is _profiling, cariña._ ” He looks down at me from behind his glasses; he's about a head taller. “But the night is young.” He elbows me. I think he's got an actual twinkle in his eye. “Maybe later we can _do it drunk._ ” He waggles his eyebrows at me. I give him a punch. He laughs.

Up ahead, Simon and Basil are holding hands, too. Not one person on the street shoots them a bad look, though I do see a group of women ogle them as we pass. I roll my eyes at them.

Micah and I are just passing a Starbucks when Simon and Baz turn and walk back towards us.

“It's twenty-one and up,” Basil says. “That wasn't on the website when I checked.”

“What?” Micah says. “I came here to get _away_ from this shit.” He looks at me when I elbow him. “And I guess to live with this one.” He says, then bends to kiss my cheek. “ _Mi alma._ ” He turns back to the boys. “In the States, you can serve in the military at eighteen, you know. But you can’t drink till you’re twenty-one. And you can’t rent a car till you’re twenty-five.”

“What do you care about renting a car?” I say.

“It’s the _principle_ ,” he says, “You're old enough to die for your country but not have a damn beer.” Then he puts on an abysmal British accent. “ _It’s a load of old tosh_.”

“Crowley,” Basil says under his breath.

“Alright, well,” I say. “It doesn’t _have_ to be this one. There’s plenty of places around that’re eighteen and up.”

“ _Pen._ This one has a _stripper pole_. I Googled it,” Simon says. He sounds disappointed.

“What do you need with a stripper pole?” I say, then, “Do I _want_ to know. No. No I don’t.”

He shrugs. “I figured if I’m gonna do this I might as well go all out.”

“The man has a point,” Micah says.

Basil’s looking at Simon like he’s an extra-special idiot. Or like he wants to tear his clothes off; sometimes I can’t distinguish. “You want this one, Snow?” he says. He looks like he’s thinking about something. _Plotting_ something.

Simon shrugs again.

“We _can’t,_ ” I say. “They won’t let us in.”

Simon throws his hands in the air. “I don’t understand you. _Both_ of you.” He gestures between me and Basil. “You’re _mages,_ for fuck’s sake,” he whispers.

“I don’t much fancy the idea of having to spell the barman stupid every time one of us wants topped off, Simon,” I hiss back.

“No,” Basil says. He’s got an eyebrow quirked. His eyeliner brings out the silver flecks in his eyes. They're shining. “We wouldn’t _have_ to.”

Micah barks a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My playlist slowly morphed into trash as I got these four closer to the club, lol.
> 
> [ Here's where they're headed.](https://freedombarsoho.com/) I researched Soho clubs for an inordinate amount of time over the last few days.
> 
> Also, HAPPY GAME OF THRONES DAY! 🐉🔥❄️
> 
> Oh, regarding Micah's flawless Spanish: I don't know a lick so please forgive me if I mess up. 🙃


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21/6/2017  
> Clubbin' - part 1

**SIMON**

 

We get into the bar after Baz, Penelope, and Micah magick their IDs in an alleyway. (Baz did mine for me. Now my birthdate reads 21/6/1996.)

Is it weird that seeing my swot boyfriend do something completely illegal turned me on? I mean, it's not like we're _hurting_ anything. So.

Plus I want to use that stripper pole to antagonize him. I'll need to be pissed first. Hopefully I remember at that point.

I order a drink called “Bite” even though there’s other stuff on the menu that sounds better. Baz doesn’t react, just orders his drink and five shots of vodka.

I nudge him in the side. “What're those for?” I whisper.

He knocks one back. “One for each of us, now. I need a little extra to feel it; you know that.”

Right. Another vampire thing we don't completely understand. We usually just have wine at home, though, not hard liquor. This could get interesting. I think the last time I saw Baz well pissed was that day Penny brought Agatha over during the Christmas holiday without telling us first. That was…

Well, there were better ways Agatha could've found out about us, anyway.

“We'll get this round,” Micah says. He's come up behind us at some point.

“You guys bought dinner!” I say.

“Dude, it's your birthday. And don't worry, I'm _only_ getting the first round. You're on your own for the rest.” He winks at me. I can see what Penelope sees in him.

Weird.

Honestly, I don't know how I ever thought I was a straight man. Probably Penny would blame it on the social norms. Or something.

The four of us find a table on the ground floor for our first round. The dance floor (and stripper poles)(and another bar) are down in the basement.

“Did you see the sign on the way in?” Penny says. “There's a burlesque show at eleven.”

I’m not sure we’ll be here that late, but it’s called Tits ‘N’ Teeth. Which is... _intriguing._ The teeth bit’s fitting, anyway. I hope.

“Snow's poor bisexual heart won't be able to handle it,” Baz says.

I shrug. I'm sure my _heart_ would be just fine. “More in it for you later,” I say, because that's what always happens when we watch something that turns me on. Which happens... quite frequently these days, actually.

Baz raises an eyebrow at me.

Micah snorts.

Penny whispers, “Nicks and _Slick_ ,” and knocks back her shot.

“You've gone and ruined my toast, Bunce,” Baz says. She rolls her eyes at him and picks up her cocktail.

“Your _toast_?” I say.

He lifts his shot glass (and an eyebrow, the cocky git). “Cheers to my terrible boyfriend,” he says. I grin at him.

We all clink our glasses together.

 

**PENELOPE**

 

Simon is completely sozzled. It's good entertainment.

We moved to a table downstairs a bit ago, after Basil bought us all another round of shots. We're not dancing, not yet.

Baz keeps sucking on his teeth and looking at Simon like he's something he wants to eat. Which is slightly disturbing. He’s clearly sozzled himself.

Basil is...a _complicated_ drunk. I used to think I had him figured out. I _used_ to think he kept all his faculties in place, but then he told me all about his sensitive prostate over the Christmas holiday (scarred me for days, that) and I had to reassess. (He pretended not to be embarrassed about it later, but he blushed around me every time he fed for a week.)

It's loud down here - and colorful - but hearing the music is really setting the mood. So's my new cocktail. I've a mind to drag Micah out for a dance, but only once I'm good and tipsy.

There really are stripper poles down here. Simon hasn't utilized them yet, thank Morgana. He probably isn't sozzled enough for  _that_.

(I'm hoping it doesn't mess with his head tomorrow. That happens when he drinks, sometimes. Not as much as it used to, but still. I reminded him of that earlier and he reminded me that it's _his_ birthday, so I dropped the subject. I don’t _like_ dropping subjects.)

Simon keeps whipping out his mobile to take Instagram stories. I think we've all been featured by now. Actually I think he's filming live.

“Look how fit my boyfriend is!” He’s practically yelling over the music in here.

Baz looks straight in the camera and says, “He may make good food, but he is an actual moron.”

Simon rolls his eyes but he’s grinning like an idiot. “He pretends to hate me.”

“I'm not pretending. I _actually_ hate you,” Basil says. _Flirting._ They’re bloody insufferable.

“ _You love me_. Say you love me.”

“Potato potahto, Snow.” Basil's _smiling._ He doesn't keep his walls up very well when he drinks, either.

“He pushed me down the stairs when we were fourteen-,” Simon starts.

Basil reaches out and tries to push Simon’s mobile away. “Would you _get_ that bloody thing _out of my face_?”

Simon's still grinning at his mobile screen. “They're all saying to kiss!”

“I am _not_ kissing you on video, Snow.” Smile dropped, eyebrow raised.

“ _Baz._ It's my _birthday._ ”

Basil rolls his eyes and lifts his drink in Simon's direction. “I'll make you a deal, Snow. I'll kiss you. But then you have to turn that off and come dance with me.” I _knew_ it. Plotting.

Simon grins _wider_ \- if that’s possible - and hands me his mobile. I guess I'm the lucky idiot who gets to film this bit. Micah snorts from next to me and shakes his head. He thinks it's _funny_ , how they wind me up.

Simon sits there grinning at Baz, his bottom lip pulled into his mouth. He has a scar there that he tends to suck on. (It was there when I came back from Chicago the last time I visited Micah. Well, it was actually there the day _after_ I came home. The two of them didn't even roll out of bed till the afternoon. Said they'd gone for a late-night drive to the country. And Simon tried to pass the scar off as some sort of cooking accident. He knows I'm not stupid, but I pretended to believe him. I'm sure Basil felt awful about it.)

Baz looks into the camera now and raises an eyebrow. “This is what I deal with on a daily basis,” he says. “Bribery. General idiocy.”

“You’ve just bribed _him_ , Basil,” I say. “These people are telling you to kiss him.” They are. Comments keep coming through faster than I can read them. Simon's grown rather popular over the last nine months. “Also, they like your eyeliner.”

“I had to wait bloody _years_ for him to kiss me,” Basil says. Yep, completely trolleyed, this one. “ _Years_ ,” he says again.

Simon grins at the camera before he focuses his attention back on Baz. “Woe is him, innit?”

Baz leans in across the table. “ _Years_ , Snow,” he whispers, and I think he's about to kiss him when he takes a sip of his drink instead. Simon throws his hands in the air.

Bloody _flirting._ Completely incorrigible, the pair of them. I'll try to give them a pass since they're both pissed, clearly. _Still_.

"Get on with it, would you?” I say. “You're making me gag.” I can feel myself smiling; I'm disappointed in myself. Bloody lowered inhibitions.

Basil sneers at me. Then he leans in, smiling again, and Simon closes his eyes. Baz veers off to the side at the last moment and Simon whips his head towards me - towards his _mobile_ _-_ like he's surprised.

A comment comes up from someone called @daphnegrimm.

“Basil,” I say. “Your mum says to stop teasing Simon and also to be careful going home.”

“Don't worry, Mrs G,” Simon says. “We took the tube.” Then he grabs Baz by the shoulders - while he's off-guard; totally unfair - and shoves their faces together. Bloody hell. Right in front of Basil’s stepmum, too.

Nicks and Slick, I think he's just slipped him the tongue.

I'm about to make them stop when Basil reaches a hand out and covers the camera lens. “We're done here,” he says, and he pulls Simon up and drags him away from the table. Simon calls out “Bye!” over his shoulder as they go.

People are still commenting as I end the video. Hearts and happy birthdays and comments about how hot Basil is. One person's written “ **OTP** 💜,” whatever that means. I use Simon's mobile to Google it and snort. Then I slip the phone into my pocket, because Crowley knows what's on there and I don't want to find out.

I'm glad to see the two of them happy, in any case. Even if they _are_ disgusting to be around at times. They’re just... _right_ for each other, aren’t they?

Micah's looking at me like he sees right through me. “Oh, shut up,” I say, and I kiss him.

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz drags me out onto the dancefloor and into a sea of people.

There's some sort of pop song playing, I think. I'm not very good with music.

I hope Baz isn’t cross with me for kissing him with his stepmum watching. Probably not. Daphne likes me, anyway. And I’m just now realizing that maybe kissing him in front of all those people on Instagram might’ve been a little invasive.

I’m just feeling _so bloody good._ I want to dance with Baz, but I don't know what I'm doing. I tell him as much when he turns to face me.

“Put your hands,” he reaches for them - my hands, I mean - and sets them on his hips, “ _here_.” Then he starts to sway. “Use me as a guide,” he says. I can think of a few things I'd like to use him as. Maybe I'll show him later.

I didn't know Baz could dance this way. I guess I should've; I already know he's bloody perfect at everything else. I already know what he can do with those hips in bed.

Can't think about that right now. I'd rather not be hard in public.

I step in closer to him. He doesn't stop moving, just presses a palm into my neck and whispers in my ear, “I _know_ you can move. You show me all the time when we fuck.” He kisses the mole on my neck. “ _Show me here_ .” Fucking hell, I think I'm blushing. Also, Baz is _definitely_ pissed.

Well. Might as well play along.

“Right,” I say, and I start moving my hips, too. I try to match him; it takes my body a minute to catch up with my brain, but it's working well enough, I think.

I think of Baz teaching me the waltz back in September. This is definitely _not_ the bloody waltz.

It's better.

I mean, maybe not _better._ Different. _Suggestive._

He smiles when I grab him and spin him around; I could swear his incisors gleam in all the colored lights coming from the ceiling. Or maybe I'm just thinking about his teeth too much.

Probably I’m just thinking about his teeth too much.

I press myself into his back, as close as I can get, then I reach around and pop the button on his jacket. I want to be able to feel the way he moves under my hands.

I move it back - the jacket, I mean - and press my palms into his waist. I can feel his muscles working under the fabric of his shirt. (They’re more defined now, his muscles. He’s been using the gym at school. As if he wasn’t fit enough before.)

I smooth my hands down his sides and tighten my grip back on his hips. He sets one cool hand on top of one of mine, then reaches the other around and holds me by the back of my neck. That feels nice; it's a bit warm in here with all the bodies.

Baz is looking over his shoulder at me. I see one eye shining silver. One cocked eyebrow.

Maybe he's thinking about yesterday, about how I tied his hands to the bedpost with that Watford tie and fucked him from behind. We don't usually do it that way. It was _good_ , though.

Can't think about that now.

Baz grinds his arse back into me. Well. Someone's thinking about it, anyway.

I want to kiss him, but that's always. And it wouldn't help with the not-thinking-about-sex bit.

I close my eyes instead.

I listen to the music, and I hold onto Baz, and I dance with him.

 

**PENELOPE**

 

I'm learning entirely too much about how Simon and Basil have sex, just by watching them dance. Merry _Morgana_.

Baz can really move his hips. He must be well pissed to be doing that in public. Or maybe he's just not wrung so tight anymore.

Simon isn't a natural, not in the slightest. He told me Baz taught him to waltz last year, but grinding isn't exactly the waltz. He seems to have the hang of _that_ well enough, the grinding.

Micah lifts his drink in their direction. “Are they always this horny?” he asks.

I scoff. “Like you wouldn't bloody believe. They're still trying to catch up on all the years of sexual tension, I think.” I take a sip of my drink and add on a, “Sorry,” as an afterthought.

Micah shrugs and squeezes me to him. “They're kind of putting me in the mood, actually.”

I furrow my brow and smirk at him. “Really.”

He shrugs again and smirks back at me. “What? They're two attractive people going at it. I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality to admit that, _cariña_.”

Nicks and Slick, maybe it wouldn’t be so disgusting if they weren’t my friends. And if I didn’t have to deal with their constant flirting. I’ve had enough flirting to last a lifetime. “You're admitting that you have _eyes,_  love,” I say as I roll mine.

“Four of them,” he says, sliding his glasses down his nose and winking at me. He gives me a kiss that tastes like gin.

“Are you pissed?” I say.

He furrows his brow at me. “Why would I be?” Ah. _Americanisms._

“ _Drunk_. I mean drunk.”

He snorts. “A bit. You?”

I _am_ feeling rather tingly. I shrug at him.

  
He leans in and kisses my cheek before getting to his feet. “Come on, _mamacita_ ,” he says. He holds a hand out for me. “Let's dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! So I originally thought I'd only have one chapter for the club scene, but I think I'mma have three, okay? Okay.
> 
> Also, Tits 'N' Teeth is totally an ongoing event at this place, & there was a gig on Simon's birthday that year. They're probably going to leave before it starts, just because there are other things I want to write about, but I thought the title was fitting so I mentioned it here. 
> 
> Also, the playlist has now evolved into good songs, actual trash, & Lady Gaga. Because Gaga deserves a category of her own, amiright?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21st June, 2017  
> Clubbin' - part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been struggling with writing drunk people the last few days so here's hoping this ain't a totally botched job.
> 
> Basically I'm putting out a warning now that this isn't my best work. But I can't keep staring at it so here you go.

**BAZ**

 

I don't know when it happened, but I'm bloody well dancing with Penelope Bunce.

She's too short for me.

“Corking idea, this!” she yells over the music. She bumps a hip into me and laughs when I stumble. Took me by surprise, is all.

I smile at her because I'm bloody well pissed, too; then I take her hand and spin her around. She falls into me and snorts. Either she's not a very good dancer or she's feeling her cocktails.

“What!” I yell.

She props her chin on my chest and looks up at me with big brown eyes. “I said _thank you_. For taking care of Simon.”

“Crowley, Bunce. Don't get sentimental on me.” That's when I remember Simon's here. Somewhere.

I look around and find him with an arm slung over Micah's shoulder. They're taking a selfie.

I could go for a fag right now.

I won't.

Simon doesn't like the taste.

Taste. _Simon_.

Fuck, but he looks good tonight.

My fangs are tingling in my skull. Or maybe that's just the alcohol.

“Basil.” Bunce.

“Hm?”

“You're well pissed.” It doesn't sound like a question.

“Completely,” I say, and I spin her again.

“Fuck, mate, your vision’s _shit_.” Simon.

When I look at him, he’s stood there in Micah’s horn-rims and an open-mouthed grin. I wish I could say he looks ridiculous. I can’t.

Bunce stands with her back to me and pulls my arms around her. I try to rest my chin on her head but she’s too short. She gets touchy when she drinks - more so than usual. I don’t mind. Bunce _is_ one of my best friends.

Oh, fucking hell. _Penelope Bunce is one of my best friends_. Aleister _Crowley._

“Basil,” she says.

“What.”

“He _does_ look cute in them.” She’s looking up at me. Her face is upside down and it’s disturbing.

I look at my boyfriend in those bloody glasses and think I’d rather like him to kiss me in them. Kiss me. Fuck me. Bloody marry me. Any of it, really.

“What was that?” Bunce says.

“What.”

“Thought I heard you say something about getting married.”

Did I...Did I fucking say that _out loud_? It’s like bloody Christmas all over again.

“You’re hearing things, Bunce,” I say. “Bloody loud in here.” I don't say anything else - I _hope_ I don't say anything else, _for Crowley's sake_ \- just go back to enjoying the view.

Simon smiles when he sees us, then starts stumbling towards us when he notices me staring. I'm not sure if it's from drinking or because he can't bloody see. The stumbling, I mean.

“Dude! I can't see!” Micah calls after him. Simon reaches back and pulls him along.

Bunce frees herself from my arms to take hold of Micah herself. He smiles at her when she reaches up to kiss him.

Simon, meanwhile, tries to kiss me and misses (unless he was aiming for my chin). He isn’t bothered by it, just pulls back and _winks_ at me. It bloody well works, too. (He's usually not coordinated enough to wink.)(It makes me want to kiss him. Or bite him, the cheeky bastard.) Then he slips the glasses off and puts them on _me._

“Mm,” he says, and he bloody winks _again._ “Take me home, Professor Pitch.” Then he snorts and starts giggling.

It's fucking adorable. What I can see of him, anyway. Micah's vision is _actually_ shit.

Bunce stands on tiptoe to take the glasses off me and hands them back to her boyfriend. “We're going to sit down a tick,” she says. “We'll find a table.”

Simon leans into me. He's so warm. And sweaty. I think about licking him clean.

He circles his arms around my waist. “D'you wanna sit?” he says.

“Could do,” I say.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck and shoulder. “ _Baz_ ,” he says. His lips and breath are warm against my skin.

“Yeah.”

“I fucking _love you_.”

I resist the urge to giggle. (Sometimes I still wonder if this whole thing is some elaborate dream.) “I love you, too, Simon,” I say.

His head shoots up off my shoulder. It scares the hell out of me. “Aha!” he says, his eyes wide. He holds a finger in my face, drops it. Smiles. Sucks his lip.

“C'mon, Snow,” I say, and I pull on his arm. “You can be a drunk idiot at the table.”

We find Bunce sat by herself. (“Micah's gone to get us water.”) I slide in next to her, and Simon slides in after me. He sidles up close until I’m forced to put an arm around him. I don’t mind. Obviously.

He smells like something I want to eat.

I pull my mobile out to check the time only to find a stupid amount of Instagram notifications. (I only installed this infernal app to support Simon.) I open them up.

“Snow,” I say, “why the _fuck_ am I all over your bloody Instagram stories?” Not that I've never been on them before. There's just not usually a cause for it.

There are a bunch of photos and videos of me dancing with Bunce. (“Oh, I quite like that one, Basil.”) The photo of Simon and Micah. A photo of Simon wearing Micah's glasses. Apparently the two of them were dancing together at some point, too. Badly.

“Because you're my _boyfriend_ ,” Simon says. He rolls his eyes at me when I look up. “And you look like a fuckin’ _snack_.”

I practically hear Bunce's eyes roll.

“Articulate as always,” I say as I pocket my mobile. We’ll see who’s a bloody _snack._

Simon scoffs. “‘M well pissed,” he says, then, “D’you wanna ‘nother?” He sounds like me with my fangs popped. He’s grinning at me. “Just...one more.”

I don’t know how much longer we’ll be here. And I definitely don’t want to be drunk at home, or tired. Not if... _well._

But Simon’s having such a good time. _I’m_ having a good time. I’m past tipsy, that’s for damn sure. It’s…

_Fun._

“One more,” I say. He leans into me, _kisses me._ (He doesn’t miss this time.) His lips are soft and warm and they taste like vodka - and whatever else is in that “Bite” drink he keeps ordering, the dolt. _Enough_ , Snow; I get the hint.

Heat pools in my belly at the thought of it, of biting him. Of giving him what he wants. Of tasting his blood.

Crowley, he’s just moaned. Probably he's thinking about it, too.

I cup his jaw, let him slip his tongue into my mouth -

Someone elbows me in the side. “ _Really?_ ” Bunce hisses.

I turn my head just enough for her to see me cock an eyebrow at her.

“We're having one more drink,” Simon tells her. “Want anything?”

“Not for me,” Bunce says. “You done, love?”

“I could go for one more,” Micah says. He’s come back with four glasses of water while Simon and I were snogging. “What’s the one you keep ordering, Simon? It must be good.”

Simon’s turned a pretty shade of pink. “‘S alright…” he says. Of course the imbecile’s been drinking it and not even fully enjoying it.

I bloody well love him.

“I think I saw something with coffee,” Micah says. “I’ll take whatever has coffee in it.”

Simon turns to me. “What d’you want, love?”

I smirk at him. “Get me that ‘Bite’ drink of yours.”

He blushes some more before he gets up. He also winks at me again. Crowley.

“Don’t forget to put it on my tab, love!” I call after him.

I bloody well love watching him walk away in those jeans.

 

**PENELOPE**

 

There's a pretty brunette talking to Simon as he waits for drinks at the bar. She's absolutely flirting with him, and he's absolutely oblivious. It reminds me of when Philippa Stainton followed him around all through fifth. He was oblivious then, too.

Basil's watching them, sucking on his teeth. There's a mad glint in his eye.

I'm half-expecting him to get up and cause some sort of scene. I don't think he would _normally_ , but I’m still trying to sort out what he’s like when he drinks. (So far I've found he's generally still well-spoken, even when he says things I don't think he actually means to say.)(He mumbled something under his breath about Simon's bum just a few minutes ago. I told him to drink his water.)

I'm about to go over there myself when Simon starts heading back our way.

The flirter bloody well follows him. I don't think he realizes. Basil sneers in her direction.

He waits until Simon's only a few paces away before he gets to his feet. He takes the glasses from Simon, sets them on the table, glances over Simon's shoulder at the girl.

He makes sure she's watching before he grabs Simon’s face and kisses him full on the mouth. It’s _not_ a peck. It’s a full-on snog. Simon gives it right back.

Great _snakes._

Micah elbows me in the side. “I sort of wish I had their energy.”

“Bloody well glad you don’t,” I say. “I couldn’t keep up.”

The flirter is just stood there blinking in what I _think_ is surprise as Baz starts in on Simon’s neck. Oh, he’s going to be appalled with himself later, and I’m just going to laugh and remind him that this was _his_ idea. (It _has_ been a good time.)

I shrug at the girl and take a sip of my water.

Basil stops kissing Simon - bloody _finally_ \- and looks over at the girl. I’m not sure _how_ he’s looking at her; I can’t see his face. I can see hers, though. I think she blushes before she turns and walks away.

Baz watches her go. Then he pulls Simon off towards the dance floor.

“Guess we're watching their drinks,” Micah says.

 

**SIMON**

 

I assume Baz is pulling me out to dance, but he veers off and takes me to the loo instead. He locks the door behind us, then he pushes me up against it and starts snogging me.

It's rough, and it doesn't _taste_ right, exactly, but I'm sure I probably taste like vodka, too.

Maybe...

 _Maybe_ we'll be able to taste each other properly if we do this long enough.

I don't get to find out.

Baz runs his tongue along the scar in my lip - sucks on it, too - and then pulls away from me.

“How fast do you think you can come?” he says.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't _that. “What_?” I say.

“You bloody well heard me, Snow.”

“Uh.” I look around even though I know there's no one else in here. “You serious?”

“Completely,” he says. Then he pulls his wand out from his jacket and casts **There's nothing to see here** on the door and **Clean as a whistle** on the floor. (Whistles aren't that clean. I suppose he just doesn't want to mark up his new trousers.) His elocution's bloody flawless even when he's pissed. Figures.

“Few minutes, tops,” I say, because I'm hard already and I've been ready to go all evening, even with all the drinking.

He casts one last spell, **Silence is a true friend who never betrays** \- even though we can still hear the music from in here - then puts his wand away and drops to his knees in front of me.

“That way you can be as loud as you want, Snow,” he says. He knows me well.

It's turned out to be a brilliant birthday so far, truly.

I smooth a hand over his silky hair and rest my palm at the back of his head. “Can I put your hair down?” I ask.

“Later,” he says, and he makes short work of the button and zip on my jeans. His eyes flick up to mine. “Are those _my_ _pants_?”

“Um. Yeah.” These jeans were too tight for boxers. I figured Baz wouldn't mind if I borrowed a pair of his trunks. I thought it might even turn him on a bit. I don't think I was wrong.

I have the fleeting thought that maybe this is a bad idea, that maybe I should pull him up and tell him to stop. It's _fleeting_ , truly, because the next thing I know he's pulled my cock out of my pants (his pants) and swallowed me down. He's still got his eyes locked on mine.

It takes me an embarrassingly short amount of time to come.

I can't help it, not with the way he looks tonight. Not with the way he's been dancing with me. Not with the way he's been _looking_ at me since we came in here. Not while I'm thinking about what he might do to me later.

Not while I'm thinking about sucking him off once he's done with me.

We know each other's bodies too well by now, anyway. He knows what'll do me in.

He does those things, and I come moaning his name at the ceiling. I tried to hold his gaze the whole time, but it got to be too much. That eyeliner makes him look…

Makes him look…

Oh fuck, I don't bloody know, do I?

Baz holds fast to my arse as his mouth slows around me. I sigh at the ceiling and look down at him. Oh fuck, I've gone and messed up his hair.

I tuck a loose strand behind his ear - I'm sure he'll fix it himself - and then I start giggling because I've just had a brilliant idea. Also I'm sozzled and just got a blowie. In a fucking loo at a bloody _bar,_ for Merlin's sake.

Baz pulls off my cock and raises that bloody eyebrow at me. “What's so funny, Snow?”

“I was…” I giggle again; I'm having a hard time stopping. “I...I was just thinking... _what if._ ” I take a deep breath. _“What if I start calling you_ Tyrannus _in bed_?” I snort. I don't know why it's so funny.

He raises an eyebrow at me _again_ , then drops his eyes to my crotch while he tucks me back into my jeans and zips them up. He zips them _hard._ I almost jump.

He gets to his feet, wipes his mouth. Sneers at me. (All _gracefully,_ I might add, the tosser.) “Call me _Tyrannus_ in bed,” he leans into me, “and I'll drain you in your sleep.”

I jut my chin forward. “Good,” I whisper. Then I drop to my knees in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, guess we're giving blowies in the bathroom now. Not part of my original plan, but sometimes the boys just go off on me & I let them.
> 
> Blame it on the a a a a a alcohol, baby.
> 
> (Make good choices, y'all.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21st June, 2017  
> Clubbin' - part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update day! (Unless you're not in my timezone...which most of you probably aren't. _Still._ ) Turn back if you haven't read chapter 5.

**BAZ**

 

I'm snogging Simon Snow inside a stall in a loo in a bar in Soho when I realize that maybe I should be done drinking for tonight.

Done drinking alcohol, that is.

I don't know how long we've been in here. Could be ten minutes. Thirty. My spell's still holding on the door. I wonder how many Normals have had to piss since I locked them all out.

I'm not even sure why we're in a stall when we have the whole loo to ourselves.

This is... _barbaric._

Sweet Morgana, you'd think all this would be below me.

“Simon,” I say. _He's_ below me, trailing kisses along my neck and throat. He hums against my skin. It all feels so _good,_ and I think maybe we could stay just a bit longer, even if we _are_ snogging next to a toilet.

That's when the door opens.

Simon jerks his head back and stares as if he can see through our stall.

The door closes and someone murmurs a spell, then, “Penny sent me to make sure you aren't making asses of yourselves.”

I'd blush if I could.

“Too late for that,” I say, because there's no point hiding. Simon snorts and buries his face in my neck. I can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Or maybe I've imagined that.

When we come out of our stall, Micah's leaning against a sink with his arms crossed.

I try to look dignified but Simon falls into me from behind and I trip over air.

Micah snorts. “Your hair is _fucked_ , dude."

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and resist the urge to wince. _Crowley._ I pull my elastic out and run my fingers through the mess.

“How'd you get in?” I say as I step towards the mirror and start fixing my hair.

“Through the lock?” he asks. He bloody well knows I don't mean _through the lock_. That would've been easy for a mage of his caliber. (I don't mind saying. If he and Bunce have children, they'll be full of power.)

“No,” I say.

He smiles at me. “Spanish counterspell,” he says, spinning his piece in his fingers. He's a wandworker, too. “I'm finding lately that some English spells don't hold up very well against them if the mage who cast it doesn't know Spanish himself. Interesting the way language can affect magic.” That _is_ interesting. I’ll have to talk with him about it later. Not in a toilet.

He tucks the wand into his jeans as if he's just holstered a gun. “I'd like to study it, actually,” he says. He pushes himself up and off the sink, points his thumb at the door. “Am I good to unspell the door?”

 

>>>

 

Bunce shakes her head when we get close enough to the table. “Morons, the pair of you,” she says.

“Put a cocktail in it, Bunce,” I say, and I point to my untouched drink. “You can have that one if you’d like; I’m done for the night.”

She holds up her hands instead of answering me.

Micah picks it up and tastes it, scrunches his nose. “That’s _sweet_ ,” he says, and he pushes it away before going back to his own drink - some concoction of coffee and vodka. Too _bitter._

“D’you want to share mine?” Simon asks me.

I suppose _half_ a drink more won’t render me stupid.

“Yeah, alright, Snow,” I say. I pick it up, taste it. It’s fruity with a hint of ginger beer. It’s a bit watered down from the melted ice, but still pretty good. Refreshing.

We take turns sipping it until it's gone. Simon rests his head on my shoulder and a palm on my thigh.

We're sat here talking, the four of us, when I feel his head shift against me. A new song's just come on. I recognize it immediately, and I know Simon has too even though he's generally terrible with music.

 

_Don't be scared_

_I've done this before_

_Show me your teeth_

 

He lifts his head from my shoulder, turns it towards me, _quirks an eyebrow at me_.

He grabs my unfinished drink and swallows some down. Then he gets up and starts sauntering away from us. _Saunters in time with the bloody beat._ I swear alcohol enhances his rhythm.

 

_Don't want no money_

_(Want your money)_

_That shit’s ugly_

_Just want your sex_

_(Want your sex)_

_Take a bite of my bad girl meat_

_(Bad girl meat)_

_Take a bite of me_

_Show me your teeth_

 

He turns and starts walking backwards so he can beckon me over to him. It's a miracle he doesn’t run into anybody.

 

_Got no direction_

_(No direction)_

_Just got my vamp_

_(Got my vamp)_

 

Bunce is rolling her eyes again when I get up and follow my dolt boyfriend.

This sexy idiot who's just _begging_ to be bitten.

He climbs up onto the platform with the bloody pole, grins at me. Then he starts to dance.

 

**PENELOPE**

 

Oh, _Simon._

The dance poles are elevated just enough for him to be taller than Basil while he's up there... _gyrating._

He looks almost as ridiculous as Gareth with his fucking magic belt buckle.

Baz clearly doesn't think so. I can see him looking at Simon like he wants to eat him, even from a distance. He's _licking his lips._

 

_Tell me something that'll save me_

_I need a man who makes me alright_

 

Simon leans his back into the pole..

 

_Tell me something that'll change me_

_I'm gonna love you with my hands tied_

 

...reaches his hands over his head and grabs it...

 

_Show me your teeth_

 

... and bloody well sinks down to a crouch, sliding his hands down the pole as he goes. All while baring his teeth at Basil.

 

_Open your mouth boy_

 

I can't decide if I want to see where this goes or if I'd rather look away.

 

_Show me your teeth_

 

I take out my mobile and start filming so I have something to embarrass Simon with later. I'm embarrassed for him _now._

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz is looking at me with fire behind his eyes.

I love it.

I try my best to hold his gaze while I ride this pole. It’s fun, I have to say.

I forget about everyone else watching and just watch _him._ He wants it. He _has_ to.

 

_Help need a man_

_Now show me your fangs_

_Help need a man_

_Now show me your fangs_

 

I turn towards it – the pole – look over my shoulder, and dip down to give him a good view of my arse. He kept grabbing it while we were snogging in the loo. It was worth it, squeezing into these jeans.

 

_Help need a man_

_Now show me your fangs_

_Help need a man_

_Now show me your fangs_

 

I think I’m doing a good job moving with the beat. Not that it really matters, as long as Baz gets the point.

 

_Help need a man_

_Now show me your fangs_

_Help need a man_

_Now show me your fangs_

 

He reaches for me and pulls me down – just lifts me up like I weigh nothing. (I think he’s gotten the point.)

 

_Help need a man_

_Now show me your fangs_

_Help need a man_

_Now show me your fangs_

 

He pulls me close - as close as he can get me - and we dance face to face. He looks like a predator.

He _is_ a predator.

 

_Tell me something that’ll save me_

_I need a man who makes me alright_

_Tell me something that’ll change me_

_I’m gonna love you with my hands tied_

 

He lunges forward and kisses me. It’s hard to do, kissing and dancing at the same time, but we manage well enough. It doesn't matter if it's _good_ , as long as his mouth’s on me. As long as I can feel him breathing.

 

_Show me your teeth_

_Show me your teeth_

_(Open your mouth boy)_

 

He turns me around and pulls me to him the way I had him earlier and grinds his hips forward. I can feel his cock through his trousers, half-hard. I push back.

 

_Show me your teeth_

 

I can feel his breath in my hair.

 

_Show me your teeth_

 

And his lips on the shell of my ear.

 

_Show me your teeth_

 

His hands are cold, even through the fabric of my shirt.

 

_Show me your teeth_

 

But my hands are sweating on top of his anyway.

 

_Show me your teeth, teeth, teeth, teeth'_

 

Then his hands are gone.

He yanks my head to the side as the song ends and kisses my neck, open-mouthed, his tongue licking up some of my sweat, his breath cool against my skin. He drags his teeth along my neck and I feel myself shiver even though his fangs aren't out. _Merlin._

I look at him over my shoulder.

He looks at me.

And we have an understanding as the next song starts to play.

We dance.

 

**PENELOPE**

 

“Oh,” Micah breathes from next to me. “Oh! _¡Oh mierda!”_

I've no idea what he's saying. Sounds like a swear word. I roll my eyes as I pocket my mobile. “Oh, sweet _Morgana_ , _what_?”

He turns to me, his eyes wide and twinkling behind his glasses, his mouth literally agape. Then he shoots a glance at Simon and Baz before turning back to me, that goofy look still plastered on his face. He starts _giggling_. I _knew_ he shouldn’t have had that last drink, coffee or no coffee.

“ _What?_ ” I say again.

He looks at Simon and Baz _again._ Then he leans into me and whispers, “ _Vampiro_.”

Oh, Stevie Nicks and Gracie Slick, _fuck._

Micah's beaming at me, shooting rather _conspicuous_ glances at our friends. Alright. Obviously he's not about to run off and tell the Coven.

“Shhh,” I say, even though he isn't being loud. I don't even think to deny it. It all just makes _sense_ once you've put all the pieces together.

“I am _actually_ disappointed in myself,” he says. “For not figuring this out sooner. _Wow._ ” He folds his arms over his chest, leans back in his chair, and barks a laugh. “Just... _wow._ ” His eyes light up then, this look he gets when he shifts into intellectual mode. “How’s it _work_?” he says.

“Micah, love,” I say. “He is your _friend_. Not your experiment.”

Micah furrows his brow. “Oh, _cariña_ ,” he says, “I didn’t mean-,”

“I _know_ . I know you didn’t. It’s just.” I glance at Basil. He looks... _happy._ And also disgusting. (He and Simon are grinding on each other again.) “It’s a sensitive subject.” Maybe I’ll tell him about how it happened, once we’re home. Or maybe he’s already worked that out. Everyone who’s gone to Watford knows how Natasha Grimm-Pitch died.

Micah leans in and kisses my temple. “I won’t say anything,” he says.

I kiss him on the mouth. “Thank you,” I say. That’s when I see Simon and Basil walking back towards our table. They’re holding hands. “Would you mind getting us more water, love? Time for you boys to sober up, I think.”

 

**BAZ**

 

We decide not to stay for the burlesque show.

We sit at the table, drink water, and people watch while we sober up. My, but people are idiotic when they drink.

Simon sits with his thigh pressed against mine even though there's extra room in the booth. I keep a hand on his knee, squeeze it now and again.

I’d really like a cigarette, but Simon doesn’t like the taste (even though he _has_ told me I look fit when I smoke, the dolt). I’ve had the thought that maybe tasting the smoke reminds him of his magic. I don’t like to remind him of that, of what he lost.

It’s his birthday. No fags for me tonight.

Micah keeps sneaking glances at me when he thinks I'm not looking. Like he's trying to puzzle something out. It's slightly unnerving. Maybe he’s just drunk, still.

Bunce tugs on his arm. “Are they actually playing a slow song?” she says. The song that's just started _is_ slow compared to what we've been dancing to all night. Nothing to ballroom dance to, but slow enough to sway together. The piano intro is pretty in any case. It's a song I've never heard before; maybe it's new.

Micah smiles at Bunce before getting up and offering her his hand. “Good way to end the night,” he says, and they make their way towards the dance floor.

“Well,” Simon says, and he stands up, holds his hand out for me. “One more dance, yeah?”

My stomach drops as he grins at me. I feel myself smiling back at him as I take his hand.

He leads me out and sets his free hand on my waist. I must say he's getting better at knowing what to do with himself when we dance. Hands. Hips. Feet. All of it.

I pull myself in close to him and press my cheek against his, listen to the lyrics of the song as he moves against me. It's different to hear the word “fuck” in such a pretty song. I like it.

 

_I’m fucked up, I’m faded_

_I’m so complicated_

_Those things that I said_

_They were so overrated_

_But I, yeah, I meant it_

_Oh yeah, I, I really fucking meant it_

_Yeah, I meant it_

 

I tighten my hand in Simon’s. He squeezes back.

 

_I gave up three times this week_

_Went through those feelings_

_Like I wasn’t worth nothing_

_I thought I, I can’t shake this off_

_No, I, I can’t be this soft_

 

“Fitting, this,” Simon says. I feel him smiling before he presses a kiss to my temple. I close my eyes and breathe him in.

 

**PENELOPE**

 

I remember when I first told Micah that Simon and Baz were dating. We were talking on Skype, and I had to tell him _something_ , because suddenly Micah was hearing Basil in the background at the flat all the time, probably berating Simon about something. _Flirting._ And suddenly I had this unlikely friendship with a bloke who Micah’d never heard me say a good word about. Not when he was going to Watford, anyway. I can think of plenty good things to say about Basil now.

Snogging Simon in a loo is not one of them, but he gets a pass for being completely sozzled.

Anyway, Simon and Basil were fine with me telling, so I told.

“ _It’s like this_ ,” I said. “ _Simon and Baz...they don’t just_ get on _now_.”

“ _What, are they dating or something_?” Micah asked, almost like it was the only option in this scenario.

“ _Yes. Truly._ Yes _. They’re disgusting, actually_.” I thought for sure that he’d start laughing, or think I was joking. Anything other than his _actual_ response.

He said, “ _Oh. That makes sense_.”

“ _What do you mean,_ that makes sense?” It made sense to _me_ , of course, when I first found out. But this was Micah. He hadn’t spent years listening to Simon constantly talking about Baz. Or watching the two of them flirt in their own bizarre way. He didn’t see what I saw in the White Chapel.

He said, “ _I mean that they were constantly going at it the year I went to Watford. I distinctly remember Baz pushing Simon down the stairs. And didn’t you give Simon a quota for how much he could talk about Baz? Or something_?”

“ _You’d been gone a year at that point_.”

He leveled me with a look as best he could behind a webcam and glasses. “Cariña. _I_ distinctly recall _you complaining to me about how much Simon was complaining to_ you _. What was it you called it_?”

“ _Whinging_.”

“Whinging _, yeah. Didn't Simon say he followed Baz around the entire year? People don’t just obsess over each other like that, you know_?”

“ _Right_.”

“ _So I’m saying I’m not surprised. Like._ At all.”

“ _Here I was thinking this was going to be some grand revelation_ ,” I said. He just smiled and rolled his eyes at me.

We’re dancing, now, Micah and I. I can see Simon and Basil over his shoulder.

“What’re you smiling at, _cariña_?” he asks.

“Oh,” I say, and I pull back to look at him. I’m smiling. “I’ve just realized...my friends will get married someday.”

He smiles back. “I thought you thought they were disgusting.”

I roll my eyes. “They _are_. But still.”

He chuckles, then says, “How do you know?”

“Same way I know I'm going to marry you,” I say.

Micah scrunches his nose at me but he leans in and kisses me on the forehead all the same. “ _Te amo_ ,” he says. That was how he first told me he loved me. He said it was easier than saying so in English, the first time. “Very much,” he adds now.

I lean into him. “Me too,” I say.

 

**BAZ**

 

Simon and I are still swaying together, holding each other close. The song must be nearly over, surely.

I nudge his cheek with mine. “Have you had a good birthday, Snow?”

“Yeah,” he says in my ear. “Wasn't sure how I'd feel about all this, you know. Going out. _Dancing_. But yeah.” He huffs a laugh. “Still can't believe you sucked me off in the loo.”

I can't either, if I'm honest. It seemed like a good idea at the time. “Well. Don't get used to it,” I say.

I feel his lips brush against my earlobe. He whispers, “I want to take you home and do dirty things to you.”

It's been too long since I drank to blush.

I tighten my grip on his waist. “Well,” I say. “I can think of a few more things I'd like to do to you, too.” _Like biting you_ , I think. I can smell the blood singing in his veins.

The hand he has on my waist slips down until it rests against the curve of my arse. He presses gently, moves me in closer. His curls brush my cheek as he pulls his head back. He's grinning at me, smiling like the sun. His eyes flick down to my lips, and then he's leaning in, kissing me.

He says, “Love you,” against my mouth. There's a warmth inside me, one that doesn't come from vodka. I'm more or less sober now, thank Crowley. I've enjoyed myself a little _too_ much tonight, I think.

I say, “Love you, too,” and pull him closer still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo obviously I was a little off the mark when I said "I expect to have this done within a week." Because it's been a week & it ain't done. A few more days should be sufficient, I think. The Sex™ is written (I'd like to do another once-over to be sure), so I just need to work on the next chapter & then whatever comes after The Sex™ because I honestly haven't thought that far ahead...
> 
> As you may know, I have this headcanon where Simon dirty dances to "Teeth" at the Snowbaz wedding. I have now sown the roots, lol. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Teeth](https://youtu.be/9Nin6MzlJHU)
> 
>  
> 
> [Bloodstream](https://youtu.be/QH-fWNOsZsM) ("slow" song they danced to at the end)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21st June, 2017  
> Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little update today, y'all. :D

**PENELOPE**

 

I lean into Micah on the tube.

He rests his head against mine and calls me _cariña_. I think he might be sleeping. We're all knackered, in a good way.

I look at the two splendid morons across from us and smile despite myself. They're a mirror image of Micah and me, Simon resting his head on Basil's shoulder. Simon might be asleep, too, I think. Baz holds tight to Simon's knee, his head nestled in Simon's curls. He must know I'm watching - I swear he's got some special vampire sense or something - because he opens his eyes and quirks an eyebrow at me.

I raise both of mine at him. He rolls his eyes and closes them again.

“Come to ours for a coffee?” I say. It's almost a whisper.

He lifts his head from Simon's and nudges him gently.

“Hm?” Simon hums. He doesn't open his eyes.

"Do you want to have a coffee at the Bunces’, Snow?”

Micah snorts into my hair. Not sleeping, then.

Simon opens one eye. “Yeah, alright. What time is it, anyway?”

“About eleven thirty,” I say. I text him the video of him pole dancing after I check the time.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his mobile. It's loud when he starts playing the video. “Oh, Jesus _Christ_ ,” he says. Basil watches over Simon's shoulder. He looks disturbingly smug about it.

Simon doesn't finish the video, just pockets his mobile. He's blushing. I think his tail would be flicking right now if he still had it. “I'm never drinking again,” he says.

“Unlikely,” Basil says, and he presses a kiss to the side of Simon's head. It's still just _weird_ , sometimes, to see Baz soft.

It's better than them fighting, anyway.

“You had moves, dude,” Micah says. His voice vibrates against my scalp.

“That you did,” Basil says. I roll my eyes.

Simon groans and hides his face in Baz's neck. Basil looks like the cat that got the canary.

 

**SIMON**

 

I said yes to coffee because I needed it to wake me up.

We didn't stay at Penny and Micah's for long. I didn't mean to be rude, but I had other things on my mind. _Obviously_.

I like Micah a lot, even if he did find Baz and me snogging in the loo.

Penny said that Baz only took me in there because that girl was flirting with me at the bar. I suppose she was, in retrospect. I’ve never been very good at figuring that sort of thing out. Baz wanted me for years and I never bloody realized, did I?

I think Baz would’ve blushed if he could, when Penny said that. (Sometimes I think it isn’t very fair that he can’t always blush. Like, he can just pretend that something isn’t completely embarrassing.)(Also it’s unfair because I like to see him blush.) He sneered at her instead.

Anyway. I like Micah. He’s a good bloke, and good for Penelope. And I think we’ll be good mates.

Penny is never going to let me forget about that bloody pole dance, either. She even laughed at me as we were hugging goodbye.

Baz and I decide to walk home. It's nice, Penny being within walking distance. She and Micah live just on the other side of the park.

“Micah knows,” Baz says now.

“Hm? Knows what?”

“About me.”

Oh, fucking hell. I hope that wasn't _my_ fault. I _did_ sort of run around telling anyone who would listen that Baz was a vampire while we were in school. Micah won't tell anyone, anyway.

“How d'you know?” I ask.

“Because he said, 'You can come in, Baz’ when we got to their flat. Unnecessary, of course. Bunce already invited me in when we helped her move.”

“Oh.”

“I asked her,” he says. He's smirking, the smug bastard. “She says he puzzled it out after you danced for me on that pole.”

Well, I guess it is my fault, then. Also I'm probably never going to be able to live that down.

“Well,” I say. “He's a good bloke. I don't think he'll say anything.”

“No,” Baz says. “Bunce thinks he's just... _interested_ in how it all works. I'd be the wrong person to ask, obviously.”

“Because you know fuck-all about vampires.”

“Yes, Snow. Because I know fuck-all about vampires.”

I squeeze his hand. We've been holding hands since we left Penny's.

“You know a _little_ more than fuck-all now,” I say.

I don't know if I should come right out and ask him. About the biting, I mean. He seemed pretty into it when we were pissed at the bar, but I wonder if he's having second thoughts, now.

Sometimes the best way to get places with Baz is to just throw it all out there. I do.

I look at him. “You gonna bite me?” I say. I say it quietly even though there's no one else in the park right now.

He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. Of course. “Should've asked before we went out, Snow. Could've saved yourself the trouble of ordering that drink over and over again. Did you even _like_ it?”

“It was alright,” I say. Not my favorite, but it definitely could've been _worse._ “So. _Are_ you going to bite me?”

He doesn't answer right away. Maybe I'm pushing my luck. I mean, I _know_ he wants to, obviously. But I don't want to make him feel like he _has_ to, either.

I shrug. “What’s the worst that could happen?” I say.

He looks at me like I'm an extra-special idiot. “Simon. Are you _serious_?”

I shrug again. “Yeah.”

He looks around, I assume to make sure we're still alone. (Seems unnecessary, really, since he can hear and smell things from further away than other people. I don't say so.) “I could drain you and kill you,” he says. “Or worse - _Turn you._ ”

“You won't,” I say. “I know that. _You_ know that.”

He rolls his eyes at me and doesn't argue. He actually _smirks_ a bit. A good sign, maybe.

I wish I knew what he was thinking.

 

**BAZ**

 

I think I might bite him.

 

**SIMON**

 

We get home after one in the morning.

Probably could've gotten here sooner, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to snog Baz up against a tree in the park, so.

I wanted to get him in the mood a bit, even if he doesn't bite me tonight. It worked, in any case.

I let him slip his shoes off at the door before I push him against the wall. (He's been doing that, taking his shoes off in the entryway, but only since he moved in. He keeps asking me to do it, too. I keep forgetting.)

I get hard when he starts nipping at my neck. (Maybe he _is_ going to bite me. Or maybe he's just a tease. I wouldn't put it past him, the wanker.) He tries to stick a hand down my jeans but they're too tight. He lets me grind against his thigh instead.

“Simon,” he says after a few minutes. I'm sure he's left a bruise over the mole on my neck.

“Yeah?” I breathe.

“I need to drink,” he says.

I'm not sure if that's good or bad. Good, maybe. Maybe I'm _dessert_.

Fucking hell.

I reach down between us and palm him through his trousers. “You gonna bite me?” I ask.

His eyes flick up to mine. They're still coal-lined silver. Fucking beautiful. “Get in bed, Snow,” he says, and he pushes me away from him easily. “And when I get there, you'd better be naked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it's been a while since I've given any updates from Mr Honeyed Hufflepuff (though I do have one for the next chapter, lol).
> 
> Anyway, a few chapters back I was having issues with deciding what was going to happen & through whose POV. 
> 
> Me: Whose POV should this chapter be? HELP ME  
> Him: *laughs to himself like he’s smart* Write it from the perspective of their penises
> 
> I should really learn to stop asking Mr HH for advice. Except for that Cold War AU. _That_ was a good idea.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've been editing this all morning & I think this is as good as it's gonna get. I hope y'all enjoy!

**BAZ**

 

When I get to Simon's bedroom - _our_ bedroom - he's in bed naked, just like I told him to be.

I drank deep in the kitchen, four container's worth of blood. I had to pace myself, too; it was a bit of work not to just down it all in one gulp. Not when I knew Simon was in here waiting for me.

He grins when he sees me, spreads his legs, then runs a hand through the bronze curls between his thighs, strokes his perfect cock. He looks me in the eye the entire time.

I swallow the saliva that's pooled in my mouth, then close the door, not because I _need_ to, but because things seem more intimate that way.

“Alright, birthday boy,” I start, slipping out of my jacket and draping it over the desk chair. “Any special requests?” I walk over to the bedside table and set my wand there, just in case something goes wrong, Crowley forbid. “Besides the obvious,” I add.

My cock is pressed hard against the placket of my trousers. I want to touch him, right now. I want to do debauched, dirty things to him. I want to bite him. I have done all night. He's right _here._

“Hm,” he hums, runs a hand over his chest as he strokes himself again with the other. “Maybe I'd like to watch you take your clothes off for me.”

I raise an eyebrow at him and step backwards away from the bed. “Do you, Snow?”

He shrugs. He's still grinning at me.

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz sets to work on his shirt buttons, his nimble fingers slowly revealing more of his pale skin until he reaches the bottom and has to pull the shirttails out of his trousers. (He does that bit gracefully, too. Of _course_. And slowly. With a _smirk_ , the wanker.) He slips his shirt off his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. I always love that, the little bit of disorganization and dip in his composure when he's turned on.

I watch the muscles in his chest and arms as he moves to unbuckle his belt. My heart's beating fast and I'm not sure _why_ , exactly; I've seen Baz naked more times than I can count by now. _Still._

He makes a show of sliding his belt off, pulling it _slowly_ through each loop as he stares me down. Then he lets it drop, too, the buckle clattering and clanking as it lands on the floor.

I breathe in deep. Baz's eyes are so intense. They are on any day, but that eyeliner…

He looks fierce. And beautiful. And _dangerous_.

He reaches down and palms himself through his trousers. I let out a moan - I can't help it - and give my cock a pull. Baz likes that; I can see it in his eyes. I do it again.

I decide I want to taunt him. “What’s taking you so long?”

He raises an eyebrow and smirks at me.

“ _Baz_ ,” I say. “Take off your trousers.”

“Or what, Snow?”

“Or I’m not going to eat you out before I fuck you.” (Of course I still _would_ ; it's _my_ birthday. I'm going to have my cake & eat it too, damn it. But sometimes we like to work each other up before we fuck. It’s fun. It’s familiar ground.)

I see the moment he decides not to keep arguing with me. He rolls his eyes and pops the button on his trousers, undoes the zip, and starts to slide them down his thighs. They’re snug, and they cling to him in all the right places. I watch as the fabric slips down over the curve of his arse and his legs until he’s standing there in his pants - tight black trunks to match the trail of black hair on his belly. Then he hooks his fingers in those and slips them off, too.

My mouth starts to water at the sight of his cock. It's bloody perfect, just like the rest of him, and flushed with the blood he just drank.

Is it _normal_ to have a pretty cock? Doesn't matter.

I beckon him over with my hand, and when he gets close enough I roll on my side, hold him by the hips, and take him into my mouth. He groans and winds his long fingers in my hair. (It always feels so _good_ when he does that.) I bob my head a few times and drag my tongue over his favorite spot before I pull off.

“Lie down,” I say. “On your stomach.”

He gets into bed - makes a show of it, too, crawling over me instead of around me - and settles on his belly, resting his head on his crossed arms. I crawl on top of _him_ , then, my chest pressed to his back, my cock pressed into the cleft of his arse. He gives me the side-eye and raises his eyebrow.

Maybe he's wondering what I'm doing. It's not that we never fuck like this, it's just that we both prefer to face each other. Not that I don't like bending Baz over now and again. I do. But he usually only wants it that way when he wants it hard. (Like yesterday when I tied him to the bedpost. _Merlin._ ) I don't know how this will go, if he actually bites me, but I can't imagine it'll be soft and tender.

We can start out that way, at least.

I bend and press my lips to his as best I can from this angle, then untie his hair and smooth it away from his neck. He shudders when I run my fingers over his scar. I kiss it, too, and then I start making my way down.

 

**BAZ**

 

Simon's mouth is warm and wet as he kisses down my spine.

I'm achingly hard, and it's not just because I know what he's about to do to me.

I'm thinking about biting him.

I drank enough before I came in here, and I'm not thirsty, but I want it. I want _him._ It feels like this is one of the last lines to cross, and there's no uncrossing it once it's done. If I do this, well.

I'll never be able to let him go.

Simon nips at the skin at my tailbone and kneads his warm hands into my arse. His tongue dips, just a bit. He likes to tease me that way, sometimes.

I say, “What're you waiting for, Snow?”

He bites me again.

This used to make me self-conscious, him putting his mouth there, slipping his tongue into me. I got over it after the first few times, because Simon, _well._ Simon bloody well loves it, if the noises he makes while he does it are any indication.

He does it now, spreads me open and moans against me as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin there. The vibration mixed with the warm wetness of his mouth makes me moan, too.

I try to turn my head to watch, but it's a terrible angle. A pity, really.

Simon must feel me shift. He kisses my tailbone and says, “You trying to watch me?”

I look over my shoulder as best I can. “Maybe I like seeing you eat my arse, Snow.”

He nods in the direction of the bedside table. “Grab my mobile. Put it in selfie mode.”

“What.”

“Maybe I _want_ you to watch me eat your arse, _Tyrannus_. It's _my_ birthday. Grab the lube while you're over there.”

He doesn't have to tell me twice. I curl my lip at him first (for calling me _that_ ), then reach over for his mobile and the bottle of lube. I reach my hand back and he takes the bottle from me.

“You want to record it?” he says.

I think, _Simon Snow wants me to film him eating my arse. Aleister fucking Crowley._

I say, “Going to put that on your Instagram, too, Snow?” I watch him on his mobile screen as I find the video app.

He scoffs and I see him roll his eyes at the camera. At me. He might even be a little flushed. “No. Probably wank off to it while you're not around.”

I picture that for a moment, then hit record. Simon grins at the camera. At _me_. Then he dips his face back into the cleft of my arse and gives me a long, slow lick.

He circles his tongue, warm and wet and slow, and I see my eyelids fluttering on his mobile screen. I see how his curls are tumbled across the curve of my arse. It tickles a bit.

Our eyes meet and I feel a trickle of pleasure run from my core to my groin, _love_ in my chest. He's still watching me as he dips his tongue into me.

I lay my head down on my folded arms and watch as he squeezes my arse, watch the way his head moves. His skin's so warm against mine, the feel and the color.

He circles his tongue again.

“ _Fuck,_ Simon…” I'm practically whining. It should be embarrassing. (It's not.)

He looks into the camera again and runs the flat of his tongue from my perineum to my tailbone, then slips a hand down under me and wraps it around my cock. “You like watching?” he breathes.

I roll my hips into his grasp a few times before he lets go of me.

“Me too,” he says, then he spreads me open again and goes back to licking me.

I let myself think about biting him. About sinking my fangs into him and tasting his hot, sweet blood. I think about how he wants me to do it. And I think about his tongue, slick and warm against me. Somewhere no one else has ever touched.

He kisses me there, open-mouthed. Moans. Licks me.

He's spelling something out with his tongue. He's -

“ _Snow_ ,” I say. “Spell ‘Tyrannus’ on my arsehole again and I swear to _fuck_ I'll - _mmph_.”

“What?” he says after he's slipped his tongue out of me. He looks up at the camera. At _me._ “You gonna bite me?”

I stare back at him. He's grinning at me. Of course.

He picks up the lube, snaps the cap. Then he purses his lips, swollen from what he's been doing to me, and air kisses the camera. _Me._ The dolt. I roll my eyes at him.

He shifts to sit on his haunches, his cock hard and flushed between his thighs, and pulls gently on my hips. I move until my knees are folded against my chest. Then I watch him in the camera as he spreads the lube onto his fingers, as he slips them down the cleft of my arse, through his saliva. He’s watching himself touch me, his bottom lip pulled into his mouth. I’m just thinking I’d like to see this from where he’s sitting when he slides two fingers into me. It’s not too much, not after he’s worked me with his tongue the way he has. I groan and let my eyes slip closed, just for a second. I don’t want to miss this.

I watch the camera, watch as I start to move my hips against his hand. He moves with me, his fingers slipping in, out, rubbing against that spot inside me that just -

 _"Oh, fuck_ ,” I say, and I glance over my shoulder at him.

He’s watching my arse, watching me move my hips. He must sense me looking at him because he raises his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, his cheeks a perfect shade of pink. He’s stroking himself in time with the rhythm of his fingers.

“Mm,” he says. “You’re tight for me.” His voice is low and breathy.

I lift my hips again so his fingers slide further into me, then turn back to watch him in the camera again. He looks up at it. At me.

“Do you want my cock in your arse?” he asks, almost sweetly.

I ignore him.

He looks back down and slips another finger into me. “Baz.”

I ignore him and try not to move my hips.

His lips quirk. He says, “I think you want my cock in your arse. You want it, don’t you?”

I’m trying not to moan, but his fingers feel so fucking _good_. And my cock betrays me, twitches at his words. At the thought of him fucking me. At the thought of biting him.

Then he bends and bites _me_ right in the arse, the cheeky bastard.

I want to kiss him. I need his mouth _here._

“ _Simon_ ,” I hiss, and I toss his mobile across the mattress. “ _Get up here._ ”

I turn on my back as he crawls up to meet me, wrap my legs around him. Then I yank him down and crash our mouths together. His erection bumps against mine and I reach down to stroke us together a few times before I guide him where I want him. He moans into my mouth as I rub the head of his cock against my arsehole.

He pulls back. “You didn't answer me,” he says.

I quirk an eyebrow at him and rub his cock against me again. “What was that?” I say.

“ _Prat_ ,” he says, and he winds a hand in my hair and _pulls_. “ _Do you want my cock in your arse?”_

I huff a laugh, which just frustrates him, I think. _Good._ He pulls my hair harder. I wonder how long we can keep this up.

“Fucking hell, _Tyrannus_ ,” Simon says in my ear. “Tell me you want it or you aren't getting it.”

I scoff. “Right. Like you can just walk away from my arse,” I say. “I know you, _Snow_. _You_ want to fuck _me._ ”

He growls at me.

“That's what I thought,” I say.

He glares at me. He must be out of things to say, because he pulls my head to the side by my hair and starts nipping at my neck. Then he bites down hard at the junction of my neck and shoulder and I'm done waiting.

“ _Give it to me_ ,” I rasp in his ear. He does.

 

**SIMON**

 

Probably I'm trying to antagonize him into biting me.

I don't know why I thought _that_ would work; he's always been able to get under _my_ skin first. He’s looking at me smugly even now, one eyebrow cocked, his eyes two pools of black-rimmed mischief. Wanker.

Even so, I take his face in my hands and kiss him. Because we haven't kissed nearly enough since we've been home.

I may be inside him, now, but I’m not moving. Not yet. I don’t want it to be over too soon. And also part of me wants him to beg for it, even though I bloody well know he won’t. Baz doesn’t _beg._ (He doesn’t have to.)

Baz cradles the back of my head in one of his long hands and presses the other into my back. His palms and his lips are warm from the blood he just drank. Which makes me think of him biting me. Which makes me moan into his mouth. Maybe he knows; he starts sucking at the scar on my bottom lip. He gives it a little nip, then nuzzles his face into my neck. He kisses me on that mole he’s always using as a target, then he nips me there, too.

His fangs aren’t out yet. It’s too early for that.

I want them to be out.

I roll my hips, sliding my cock in deep and then back, deep and then back. Baz groans in my ear and tightens his legs around my waist. I can feel his fingernails pressing into my scalp. He starts rolling his hips, too.

“ _F_ _uck yeah_ ,” I say, my voice breathy in his ear. “ _Fuck me._ ” I stop moving and let him do as he likes. He holds onto me tight as he grinds up against me, taking me deep. He licks my neck as he does it. “ _Baz_.” He feels so good around me. It’s always so _good._ He keeps one hand at my back and trails the other down to my arse and squeezes.

“ _Simon_ ,” he breathes, and I know his fangs are dropping because he slurs my name. “ _Mmph. Fuck,_ your cock feels so good, Snow.”

I turn my mouth into his and start moving my hips again. I give him a few hard thrusts (I want to hear the sounds he makes) then still my hips and pull back just a little. Our lips are still touching, just barely. He’s looking at me, and I’m looking at him.

Our breath shakes together.

“ _Baz_ ,” I whisper against his mouth. “Bite me. I want you to bite me.”

His lips catch on mine. I think he’s going to say something.

He doesn’t.

He flips us over, and when he looks at me, I can see it in his eyes. The want. The fear. The _want_. He looks so fucking dangerous.

He _is_ dangerous. Sometimes I forget.

My pulse is racing. Fuck, am I sure about this?

Yeah.

He licks his lips. Fucking hell.

“ _Baz_ ,” I say, and he hitches me up under my shoulders to pull me closer to him. I can feel his palms pressing in between my shoulder blades where my wings used to be. He splays one hand across the two scars - I know because it _feels_ different, the skin there. More sensitive and _not_ at the same time. His other palm presses gently against the side of my neck so I have to tilt my head to the side.

Fuck, I think he's actually going to do it.

 

**BAZ**

 

Simon's skin is hot as I move my lips along his neck, his throat, his shoulder. There's a trail of gooseflesh where my mouth used to be.

I lick the mole on his neck, and then his pulse point.

I can feel his heart pounding, his blood pumping, his breath shaking.

My fangs are aching to sink into him, and my cock is throbbing.

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz's hips are completely still as he kisses my neck. I can feel the shape of his fangs through his lips, and his mouth is _warm_ from the blood he had before we started.

He lets out a shaky breath. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Please.”

He hesitates. “This is your last chance to change your mind, Snow.”

“I won't,” I say. “I'm not.” I'm bloody shaking, is what I am.

He's breathing heavy when he pulls back. He's so turned on, I can see it. I can _feel_ it. His heart's beating madly around my cock and his precome's leaking onto my belly. He lunges forward and kisses me, his tongue dragging against the scar in my lip. Fucking tease.

I reach a hand down and smack him in the arse, because I've never tried that before and now seems like a good time. He jumps and stops kissing me.

His eyebrow's cocked at me. “Did you just _spank_ me, Snow?”

I shrug, which is a little hard to do lying down and with Baz's arms around me. “Yeah.”

He _sneers_ at me and starts grinding his hips against me. Oh, he liked _that_.

I do it again, on the other cheek this time.

He takes his hands out from under me and pushes them into my chest. I don't know what he's doing. Maybe he isn't going to bite me after all.

This feels brilliant, anyway.

He’s bloody ruthless when he gets like this, when he fucks me into the mattress. I just hang onto his hips and let him go.

He ghosts his hands over my nipples and I think he's doing this on purpose. Trying to make me come. He knows I love the feel of his hands on me. Fire-holder's hands. He's _plotting_ something; I'd know that fucking look anywhere.

Fuck, I’m going to come. And he’s not going to bite me.

 

**BAZ**

 

I know what Simon sounds like when he’s about to come.

His moans get louder, more like gravel. There’s a hint of a growl in them, and I can start to feel his heartbeat in his cock. He’s so _alive._

He’s looking up at me like he’s waiting, his grip on my hips tightening. That’s it, Snow. Let go.

I can smell his blood from here. I can feel it singing in his veins.

If I’m going to do this - if I’m going to _bite_ him - it’s going to be this way.

At least this first time.

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz is looking at me like he’s about to attack.

His hips are so brutal. And his arse is so tight. And his eyes…

I can’t take it anymore. Fuck, I’m so _fucking_ close -

It happens so fast.

Just as there’s heat shooting up my cock, just as I’m crying out Baz’s name, he lunges and pulls my head to the side by my hair. There’s a sharp _burn_ at the junction of my neck and shoulder and I gasp as he grinds against me, moans against my skin, presses into my throat with his palm.

Oh _fuck_ , he’s _biting me._

I push up into him; I can’t help it. My mouth is open, and I’m trying to moan but I _can’t_ . I’ve never been so quiet. I’m just gasping with each new wave of heat pulsing from my cock, my shoulder. Finally I let out a gasping _grunt_ of sorts. That's when I find my voice again.

My shoulder's burning with his fire. He's a bloody demon. I'm sure as fuck being loud now. “ _Baz_ ,” I moan. The noises coming out of me should be embarrassing. They aren't. “Fuck yes, love, _fuck me_.”

Baz makes a noise - a _growl_ \- that vibrates against me and I feel his come spilling against my belly. I realize I’m not even touching his cock. Neither is he. Fucking hell.

I feel his fangs slip out of me - it _aches_ , but not in a bad way - and then his tongue’s dragging along my skin, soothing and wet. I reach down between us and give him a long, slow stroke. He’s still pulsing in my hand. I do it again and he whimpers against my shoulder.

His lips slide against my skin one more time before he lets go of me. When he pulls back, his pupils are blown, his eyes a shining black ringed in silver and smudged eyeliner. A drop of my blood's running from the corner of his mouth. He catches it with his tongue.

He looks... _high_.

I roll us over so I'm on top again and take his hands in mine. His come's slippery between our palms and I can feel four warm rivulets of blood running down my collarbone.

I let go of one of his hands and pull him by the hair so his head tips back, then I delve my tongue into his open mouth. It tastes like copper. And Baz.

I’m still inside him; I always like to stay inside him until I can’t anymore. Fucking _fuck_ , I want to get hard again. Right now. But I don't know if I can. There are things I want to do to him, so many things. He doesn’t even have to get hard; I can work with his prostate alone (I’ve only ever made him come that way with my fingers - I _think_ \- but giving him a prostate orgasm with my cock is on the list of things I want to do to Baz). That’d be enough.

My shoulder stings where he bit me, but…

_I like it._

Now I understand why Baz liked feeling sore, the first time we did this. Anal sex, I mean. It was because I did it to him.

I feel my blood drip off my collarbone, and when I pull away from his mouth I see it, droplets of red on our sheets, on Baz's pale skin.

I don't know what I'm thinking when I swipe it up and rest my fingers against his lips, but he sighs and closes his eyes as he takes my fingers into his mouth. His tongue swirls around my fingertips, and I think maybe I _can_ get hard again.

 _Again_. I want him to come again.

 

**BAZ**

 

I’m so dizzy.

With lust. With thirst _._ With love for this fucking moron who just let me bite him, for Crowley’s sake.

It was so good. Sweet and hot and _Simon._

Now I’m sucking Simon Snow’s blood from his fingers. He tastes so _good_ , like liquid sex, and I want more, and there’s _more_ leaking from the bite - _my bite_ \- in four thin red rivulets. I watch as it trickles down his shoulder and clings to the edge of his collarbone.

I release his fingers and bring my mouth to his chest so I can lick the blood from his skin. Not a drop should go to waste, not of this. My arms are wrapped around him, holding me here, and I take everything he gives me.

Mine.

He's _mine_.

His come’s still warm inside me when I feel him start to harden again. I'm not sure how long it's been. A few minutes. Ten. It doesn't matter.

He hisses as I circle my tongue around the bite in his shoulder, but he doesn’t tell me to stop, no. He starts moving, his cock slick with his come.

Simon Snow is so turned on by me biting him that he's going to fuck me into the mattress. I really am living a charmed life.

A lot of the time, he'll ask me what I want. He doesn't ask me now. Sometimes that _is_ what I want, for him to have his way with me. Those are the times I can break right through a silencing spell.

Well. We don't need those anymore, do we?

I watch him pull his bottom lip into his mouth as he sits up to kneeling between my legs. Then he grips me by the hips and pulls me further down his cock. Crowley, I should bite him more often if this is what it gets me.

I can still taste his blood.

I'm hard again, too.

“ _Simon_ ,” I say, and he growls as he starts to thrust, taking hold of my legs and spreading them how he wants. He props one against his shoulder and I feel my calf slipping in his blood. I don't know what I like better, _seeing_ it or _feeling_ it against my skin. His cock is sliding hard inside me and I'm writhing against the mattress; I don't even care how ridiculous I probably look.

He falls forward on top of me, folding my leg against my chest. I let him kiss me for a moment before I pull his head aside and lift my head to bury my face where my calf's hooked over his shoulder. There's blood welling there, still, red and thick and _hot_. I catch it with my tongue.

Simon groans, “Fuck yes, _fuck_ ,” and snaps his hips into me.

My head falls back against the bed. I think I might be crying. Am I crying? I certainly _sound_ like it.

No.

Simon moves my leg from his shoulder and sits back up, his hand running through the blood at the back of my calf, my knee, my thigh. He glances at the bite in his shoulder, at the blood, then he gathers some of it in his palm and looks at me.

I imagine the look on my face is much the same as his. Flushed, eyes hooded, mouth hanging open.

I've no idea what he's doing.

Then he lets out a shaky breath and wraps his bloodied hand around my cock.

I'm just thinking this can't _actually_ be happening when I just _stop thinking._

 

**SIMON**

 

Baz exudes sex, like _all the time._ At least he does to me. But I've never seen him look like this. I've never seen him look so utterly debauched. So completely wrecked.

He pulls at his hair with one hand and holds fast to my wrist with the other. His perfect mouth is open and stained red. His perfect cock is sticky with his come and my blood.

 _I've got you, now,_ I think. _I've got you right where I want you._

I jerk him off and watch him, _listen_ to him. I don't even have to move my hips; Baz is riding my cock like his life depends on it. I feel bloody drunk, even though we haven't had a drink in hours. I can't imagine how he must feel.

It's so fucking _good._ And he's so fucking fit.

I have a fleeting image of him lubing himself up with my blood and fucking _me_ , which is...a weird thought. A weird thought that makes my cock twitch. He's never been inside me before; I don't even know if he'd want that.

I didn't even know _I_ wanted it. Fucking typical.

I'm not going to last much longer if I keep thinking about it, so I stop.

I let go of him as the blood on his cock starts to dry, and then I take him by the thighs and start to move again.

 

**BAZ**

 

His cock is killing everything I'm trying to think.

My mouth has been open in a silent scream for...what? I don't know.

“Touch yourself,” Simon says, but everything's so intense that I don't really register it. “Baz. _Touch yourself,_ ” he says again. I do.

Touching myself has never felt like _this._ White hot pleasure rushes through my pelvis as soon as I feel Simon's blood against my palm. It's building, building, _building_. It doesn't stop.

“ _Hard_ ,” I hiss, and he does as I say, snapping his hips into me hard and fast.

There's heat _everywhere_. I feel like I've been on the edge of orgasm for the last few minutes, or however long it's been, I don't fucking know.

Simon takes one hand away from where he's holding my leg and looks me in the eye as he smears the blood on his shoulder. He rakes his fingers down over his collarbone, his chest, leaving four stark trails of red against his tawny skin. There's still some in his hand when he takes hold of my leg again, his grip sticky and hot **.**

His blood smells so good. I can still taste it, and his hips haven't stopped, and my own grip is so tight, _and_ -

I snap.

The noises I make...I've _never_ made. Low. Guttural. _Animal._ I pull my head up and watch myself come as Simon Snow drives into me. He doesn't stop.

I don't remember when my head hit the mattress, but it's thrashing, and my back's arching, and my jaw _cracks_ as I gasp, and moan, and gasp, and _moan._

I'm still coming.

“Holy... _fuck_ ,” I sob, and Simon falls on top of me, his mouth latching onto mine, swallowing my moans. My legs shake as I fold them around his waist.

He pulls back and shoves his shoulder into my face, the one with my bite. I don't even have to think; I just latch onto it with my mouth, run my tongue over it. It's not bleeding like it was, but there's still some. I take it.

I don't know what it is - the act, the idea, the blood itself - but it sends another wave of hot pleasure down my spine, through my core, down in the place where Simon and I are melded together.

He shudders on top of me as his hips start losing rhythm. I grab his arse and urge him on, push him into me. He buries his face in my neck and cries out as he comes again, a choked sort of growl that I don't think I've heard before.

His weight sinks into me, his sweat sliding against my skin. I lick and suck at the bite in his shoulder until the pulsing in his cock starts to slow, then I drag my mouth away and tighten my arms around him.

 

**SIMON**

 

I'm panting. We're both panting. And still moaning. There's sweat dripping down my forehead and my temples. I think my blood's done dripping, though.

I pull back to look at Baz's face. His expression's contorted, but I know it's _good_ , because he just came harder than I've ever seen him come. Than I've ever _felt_ him come. He's still pulsing around me.

I go to smooth his hair back - it's sweaty and clinging to his face - but he doesn't give me a chance. He lets out another choked moan - and I like any noise Baz makes when we fuck but _that_ is something else - and grabs me around the neck, kissing me hard, the shape of his fangs pushing against my lips. His hands are shaking. His legs are shaking, too. His _breath_ is shaking against my cheek. Fucking hell.

I slump against him when he finally lets me go. I'm _knackered._ And I don't want to get up. I never want to stop touching him.

The room's silent for a few minutes, except for our breathing. I swear I can hear our hearts pounding, too.

Baz's hand falls from where he's been stroking my back. “I don't,” he says, softly. I pick my head up so I can look at him. His eyes are closed, his lips parted. His fangs are still out, pushing over his swollen lips. “I don't know what to say,” he breathes.

I swipe my thumb under one of his eyes; his eyeliner's all smudged. “Don't you dare be pissed off with yourself,” I start. “Because-,”

“No, Snow. I'm alright. Tip-top.” His eyes flutter open. “I just. Actually don't know what to say right now.”

“Well, darling.” I grin at him. “How about 'That was bloody brilliant’ - no pun intended. Or 'Happy birthday,’ or ‘I love you.’”

“Did you just.” His eyes open wider and he lifts his head from the bed. “Did you just call me 'darling’?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say as I push some hair out of his face. “Why?”

He starts laughing, this adorable high-pitched giggle I've never heard before. I swear my blood's got him high.

“What?” I say, smiling. But he just keeps on. He's laughing so hard he's gasping trying to catch his breath. His belly's heaving against mine.

I start laughing, too. And then I kiss him; I don't know why. To shut him up. To feel what it's like to kiss him while he laughs. Just because I want to.

He eventually calms down enough to kiss me back. It's soft, now, and gentle, even with his fangs out. His lips are still warm.

I pull back and press a kiss to his forehead. I don't want to get up, but we're also covered in come and blood.

“Fancy a shower?” I say.

Baz nods, his eyes closed, the ghost of that laugh still etched on his lips.

I kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> **  
> _Simon Snow is never going to call me darling._  
>   
> 
> THINK AGAIN BAZ
> 
> Also, I hope this was...good? I have mixed feelings about it. But hey, there's always room for more bites in the future. ;)
> 
> >>>
> 
> So if you've read my end notes on [APoSM](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786282/chapters/41964572) or follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thehoneyedhufflepuff) you know of the ongoing joke about Mr Honeyed Hufflepuff & his feelings on me writing what he refers to as “gay vampire porn.”
> 
> Mr HH works nights, & I always make him a smoothie before he leaves the house. He wakes up early the other day, because after a lifetime of being completely uninterested in sports he has suddenly developed a taste for hockey & there was a game on.
> 
> At this point we're like an hour ahead of schedule for when I'd usually make him his breakfast but I've got stuff to write & I want to get it out of the way.
> 
> Me: Do you want your smoothie now or…?  
> Him: *is indecisive*  
> Me: Well I'm going to make it now. I have to finish writing this rimjob.  
> Him: Okay.  
> Him again when I've already walked away: Wait wHAT?
> 
> Why, I ask, is it always the rimjobs?
> 
> Later:
> 
> Him: Are you judging me for watching sports. I've never watched sports. You said you liked that. And now I'm watching sports.  
> Me: it's fine  
> Him: WHATEVER YOU WRITE VAMPIRE PORN


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After.

**SIMON**

 

Baz insists on healing my wound before we do anything else.

Apparently the only time his elocution _isn’t_ flawless is when his fangs are out. It’s times like these that still having my magic would come in handy, I guess. Not that I was ever great with spells, but probably I could just _think_ myself healed, yeah?

I try not to think about it too much.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, and lowers his wand. He's not _used_ to being mediocre with his spells. “Well,” he sighs. “It’s partly fixed, anyway.”

I look at the bite as best I can and run my fingers over the skin. The punctures have scabbed over with his spell, but they're tender where I touch them.

Baz's fangs aren’t going to retract until all the blood’s gone, I don’t think. “Well,” I say. “Let’s go have our shower. Then we’ll try again, yeah?”

He sighs again and sets his wand down on his bedside table. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t cause any lasting damage to the tissue…”

I take his hand. He’s still shaking a little. “After we shower. You'll still be a mage when we’re finished.”

He meets my eyes and quirks an eyebrow. I smile at him. I’m still feeling so _good._ Happy.

“C’mon,” I say. “It’ll be nice.”

Baz nearly falls over when he tries to walk.

He's been well fucked; I'm not modest about it. I may have been absolute shit with spells but I am _ace_ at shagging.

I laugh at him but put an arm around his waist anyway. “Alright?” I ask.

“Tip-top,” he says. His fangs gleam when he smiles at me.

When we get to the bathroom, I turn the water as hot as I can stand it because Baz likes his showers bloody scalding. The water rinses away most of my blood. I can’t help but look down and watch it swirling pink down the drain. So weird.

We've tried to shower together loads of times, but we mostly just end up getting off instead of washing. It's sort of nice to do it this way instead.

We don't need to _say_ that we're going to wash each other. We just do.

Baz pays special attention to me wherever he touches me, especially on my bite. (His bite.)

“Don’t you have special spit?” I say as he lathers soap around it, over it. It stings, a little, and smells like him. Like cedar and bergamot.

His eyebrows quirk but he doesn’t look at me. “Special spit, Snow?” He doesn't slur his words. His fangs have gone, then. Wherever they go.

He’s told me about it before, the spit thing. He doesn’t _really_ know fuck-all about vampires; he just doesn’t know, like, a _lot_ about vampires. Anyway, there’s something about his saliva - what was the word? I can't remember. Basically his spit's like that antibiotic stuff the Normals use with plasters.

“What was it you called it?” I say.

“An astringent,” Baz says. He doesn't lift his eyes from my shoulder. “Or antiseptic?”

“Right. Both, I guess. So why're you bothering with washing it?”

Baz's lips quirk up at the corners. “Because I want to, Snow.”

After he's done, I let him wash my hair with his fancy shampoo. I lean back into him while he does it. His fingers feel so lovely against my scalp, and the whole shower smells like Baz. He's careful not to get any in my eyes when he rinses it away.

“You want me to do yours?” I ask when I turn to face him.

He lifts one eyebrow. He doesn’t look quite as fierce now; his eyeliner’s gone, washed away. (He did that part himself.) “You think I'd let you anywhere near my hair, Snow?” he says.

“Dunno,” I say, and I grin at him. “We've done riskier things, haven't we?”

“None so risky as this,” he says, but he hands me his shampoo bottle anyway and turns his back to me. He looks over his shoulder. “Not too much. You'll upset my oil balance.”

I roll my eyes at him and set to work.

 

**BAZ**

 

Simon Snow is washing my hair.

Simon Snow called me _darling._

Simon Snow let me bite him.

I’m still shaken, and a bit light-headed. I can feel his blood flowing with mine in my veins, and it feels _right._ The most natural thing in the world. In the entire galaxy.

_We could be stars…_

I feel drunk on Simon Snow’s magic.

I feel drunk on _Simon Snow_.

Crowley, I’m waxing poetic.

I wonder if it’ll be like that every time. Will there _be_ another time? I don’t think we’ll be able to help ourselves, not now that we know what it’s like.

It was undoubtedly one of the most intense things I’ve ever experienced in my life. One of the most intimate things. Maybe the _most_ intimate, I’m not sure; I don’t think I’ve fully processed it. All I know is how close I feel to Simon, and how completely terrifying it is. What was it he said the other day? _There’s more to lose when things are going well._ Something like that.

I’m not losing him.

He’s right here, and his hands are in my hair, and it feels _good_ , even though he used entirely too much shampoo.

I don’t _care_ about the bloody _shampoo_.

I love him.

I didn’t think I could love him more than I did yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that, but I _do._

This is what happens every time I’m fooled into thinking that I love Simon Snow as much as I possibly can. I just end up surprising myself.

My chest just keeps expanding with it.

It’s almost hard to breathe.

 

**SIMON**

 

It's weird, washing someone else's hair. His is longer, and silkier, and I like how it feels as it falls through my fingers. Baz likes it, too; he keeps sighing.

He rinses his hair himself; I'm not tall enough to shield his eyes properly like he did mine. He turns towards me when he does it and tilts his head back into the stream of hot water. I watch the muscles shift in his long neck as he moves his head from side to side. It makes me want to kiss him there.

Everything makes me want to kiss him.

I close the gap between us and press my hands into his waist, my lips into his throat. He hums at my touch; I feel it vibrating against my mouth.

Baz rests his palms on my hips. They're still warm. His palms, I mean. “You trying to go for round three, Snow?” he says. “Because I'll be honest - I don't think I can take it.”

I snort. I don't think _I_ could take it either. “No,” I say. “I just prefer kissing you.”

He hums again, then catches my lips with his. We kiss until the water runs cold.

 

>>>

 

We don’t talk about it till we get into bed. (Baz had to magick my blood out of the sheets, and then he decided to just **Clean as a whistle** the whole bed. Things _did_ get a little messier than usual.)

My shoulder aches where he bit me, but the pain fades when he casts **Get well soon** on me again. I can feel my flesh stitching itself back together under my skin.

“You've scarred again,” he says.

“That's not a surprise, is it?” I say.

“No. I suppose not.” He doesn’t sound upset about it. Personally I think he _likes_ it, having a mark on me.

I'll admit that I like it, too, though I guess it might be something to consider if we want to do this again. Probably not the best idea to have bite marks all over me. Though Baz could probably just spell them invisible.

We can think about that later.

We crawl into bed, Baz sighing deeply as he sinks into the mattress with his nest of blankets.

I find my mobile under the covers when I bump it with my foot. I grab it with my toes and pass it to my hand, then hold it up and grin at Baz. “That was hot, yeah?” I say. I hope he remembered to save the video before he practically yeeted my phone across the bed. I’d like to have a watch later.

Baz blushes, and I do too when I realize that he’s blushing with _my_ blood. My breath catches at the thought.

I set my mobile down on my bedside table. “So,” I say, and I turn on my side to face him. He's staring at the ceiling. Not in a _bad_ way, but I'd rather he stared at me. I lift his t-shirt and splay my hand out on his belly. It’s calming, feeling his stomach rise and fall with his breathing. I rub it the way he likes. His stomach, I mean. “How d'you feel?” I ask.

His head turns towards me, his eyebrows as expressive as always. His lips and cheeks are pink, and his eyes flick to the scar on my lip before they land on my new one.

He’s quiet for a moment, then, “How do _you_ feel, Snow?”

“I asked you first,” I say, then I add a “ _Tyrannus_ ,” as an afterthought.

“Would you _stop_ calling me that?”

I shrug as best I can. “Dunno. I think you might like it.”

He levels me with a look.

I shove him in the shoulder.

He takes my hand and sets it back on his belly beneath the blankets.

I roll my eyes at him but go back to rubbing.

“Really though, love,” I say. “How d’you feel? And give me more than a ‘tip-top,’ yeah?” He _has_ to be feeling good. As good as I am. _Better_ , probably _._ And I need to be sure he isn’t over there doubting his humanity or something completely stupid.

He reaches over and brushes my damp curls off my forehead. (He offered to spell them dry. It drives him mad when I go to bed with my hair wet, but I know he secretly likes how ridiculous I look in the morning.)(We’ve got nowhere to be in the morning, so I suspect we might spend it right here.)

His cheeks are burning up again. It’s one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen. “I feel like I love you,” he says.

I grin at him. “That all?”

Baz doesn’t answer me, just keeps running his fingers through my hair and blushing.

“Well,” I say, and I stop rubbing his belly so I can take his hand instead. It’s the one with the cross-shaped scar. I trace the mark with my fingers before I bring his palm to my lips and kiss it. “I bloody well loved it, didn’t I? You were…” His cheeks are as red as I’ve ever seen them. “Well. You were amazing, weren’t you?”

“You weren’t half-bad yourself, Snow,” he says.

“ _Not half-bad_?” I say. “ _Baz._ What'd it _feel_ like? What'd it _taste_ like?”

His lips part like he's about to say something, but he doesn't. He furrows his brow instead. Then he looks at me, finally. “You taste the way sex _feels_.”

I've no idea what he means. It _sounds_ like a good thing.

“And now,” he says. I watch as his Adam's apple bobs. “Now it feels like loving you is _actually_ going to kill me.” His lips quirk up at the corners. “But in a good way.”

“I don't understand,” I say, and I'm sure he'll say something like he usually does. _Par for the course, Snow._ He doesn't.

He turns on his side to face me fully. “Neither do I,” he says. He's smiling, and he still sort of looks a little high.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You feel like...it's gonna kill you. But that's...good.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Not _literally,_ Snow. I just feel like my cold, dead heart's going to beat out my chest.”

“Your heart's not cold or dead,” I say. I know he's joking, but I don't think it's funny.

“No,” he says, and he goes back to playing with my hair. “No, it's pretty warm right now.”

That makes my chest (and my cheeks) heat up, too.

We're quiet for a few minutes.

I think about telling him what I was thinking, during. About how I'd like to know how it feels to have him inside me, sometime. I decide it can wait.

His eyes slip closed and his fingers still in my hair. He's not sleeping. (I know what he sounds like when he sleeps.)

“D'you want to do it again?” I whisper.

Baz opens his eyes and rolls them towards the ceiling before resting them on mine. He makes a show of it, honestly. “Obviously,” he says.

I grin at him. He smirks (and blushes) back.

I press my hand into the small of his back and he moves until he's curled into me. Then I prop my chin on his head; it's one of the only times I get to enjoy the illusion of being taller. Baz hitches one long leg over my hip, probably to remind me that his legs are bloody Ionger than mine and that I'm not fooling anybody.

Or maybe he's just more comfortable this way.

I close my eyes and tighten my arms around him. His breath's warm against my neck, and I shiver when I feel him press his lips to my new scar.

“Love you,” he breathes against my skin.

“Love you, too,” I say, then, “ _darling._ ”

I can feel Baz smiling against my shoulder.

We fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! 
> 
> I'm not sure how much longer we have of this fic..maybe one more chapter? Two? I have a little extra written that was originally going to go with this chapter but I liked the stopping point of them falling asleep so I moved it to the next chapter instead. 
> 
> Anyway. We're nearing the end! Hope you enjoy.
> 
> PS. Baz's spit being antiseptic is based on [this post.](https://vkelleyart.tumblr.com/post/182247884217/in-case-youve-ever-wondered) I figured I needed to find a way to include it here. :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22nd June, 2017

**BAZ**

 

_Simon Snow called me darling._

That's my first thought when I wake up.

The second is something like, _Aleister fucking Crowley, I_ bit _Simon Snow._

I shoot up in bed.

 _I bit him. I_ bit _him._

But when I look over, Simon's sleeping peacefully beside me, the blankets thrown off to my side of the bed. He still does that, even though he's not burning up with magic anymore.

I take one deep breath - in through my nose and out through my mouth.

He's alright.

He's…

_Mine._

I let myself stare at him - because I _can_ \- and then I run my fingertips over the new scar on his shoulder. It's not like mine, not exactly. It's pinkish. _Alive._ Mine's more grey - silver, if I'm generous - a mark of the change.

I'm so preoccupied with my mark on his skin that I don't see him open his eyes.

“D'you like it?” he says, his voice heavy with sleep.

I drop my eyes, quirk my eyebrows.

What a question.

Of course I _like it._

I bloody well love it.

I love _Simon._

I'm feeling…

 _So_ many things.

I'm not usually the one at a loss for words, but just trying to _think_ about how I feel is utterly exhausting. It's too bloody early to try and sort it all out.

_Mine._

Crowley, am I sick in love.

I run my fingers over Simon's scar again. “Mm. Do you?”

He doesn't say anything, just grabs my wrist with his warm hand and pulls me down. I curl into him until his chin rests on the top of my head. He smells like cedar and bergamot. Like _me._

_Mine._

We fall back asleep.

 

**SIMON**

 

I've slept better than I have in ages, and it's not like I was sleeping badly before.

I'm still wrapped around Baz, and he's still warm. It's probably the warmest I've ever felt him. It's got me sweating.

I untangle myself from him, just a little. Just enough so I can look at his face. He's still flushed a pretty shade of pink.

I push his hair back from his forehead and kiss him as softly as I can. It's not long before he starts kissing me back.

“D'you want breakfast now or after?” I say, because our hips are still pressed together and he's hard and it's got me going, too.

“Mm.” He smiles against my mouth. “How about in between?”

I huff a laugh before I kiss him again. That sounds like a brilliant way to spend the morning.

 

>>>

 

Turns out my mobile had enough memory that it recorded our entire shag after Baz tossed it aside.

I mean, obviously the majority of it's just _sounds_ , but it's definitely still worth the watch, in my opinion. We _did_ watch it, earlier, let it play while we shagged after breakfast. _Definitely_ a good choice.

I'm not even depressed today, which is nice. Drinking does that to me, sometimes. Baz thinks it has something to do with where he bit me. The _not_ being depressed, I mean. Something about endorphins. And, well. It's not like we know _everything_ that happens when a vampire bites a person. Maybe there's a little magic involved, too.

I'm sure having sex twice before noon didn't hurt, either.

Apparently I can solve things with my blood, too, because Baz says he feels better than he has in ages. He says it's the best he's felt since he was kidnapped. (I don’t think he wanted to admit it, but then again he doesn’t like admitting he was kidnapped in general. I’m just happy he feels good.)

He told me earlier that he feels this new sort of connection with me, too. He said he couldn't explain it properly, and he blushed the entire time he was telling me about it. (I just grinned at him like an idiot.)(Blushed, too. I _do_ feel closer to him.) I wasn't sure what to say, so I snogged him senseless. And then we shagged again. And then I told him how much I love him, too, even though I can't really put it into words.

He's blushed every time I look at him all day. (I like it.)

“Snow,” Baz says now. “Help me move this bookcase to the office, would you?”

I groan. I'm not sure which was more of a workout - the pole dance or the sex - but I've got muscles aching in places I didn't even realize I _had_ muscles.

“You've got _super-strength_ ,” I say.

Baz raises an eyebrow at me. Honestly it's a miracle the damn thing isn't permanently stuck that way.

“I'm stronger than _you_ ,” he says. “I only have _super-strength_ when I'm on the hunt.”

I stand up from where I'm sat on the couch. “That could be arranged.”

He rolls his eyes at me. And blushes.

I shrug at him. And grin.

And then I help him move the bookcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Here we are at the end! (Can you tell I had no idea how to end this? I had no idea how to end this. It's _fine_.)
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this one! Definitely a bit out of my comfort zone to write, but I enjoyed it all the same. Now I guess I need to get back to working on [_In My Blood_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274133/chapters/43246316). (Which is _really_ out of my comfort zone. Who'd've thunk I'd be more comfortable writing bloodplay than I am writing uncomfortable family dynamics? Not me.)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who helped point out the issues with Micah's Spanish. It's pretty much all wrong, lol. Not that I thought Google would be a _great_ source of information, but I thought it'd at least do a little better than it did. I'll need to go through eventually & fix all the mistakes.
> 
> On another note, I do hope you enjoyed Micah! I had fun playing around with him. I'm sure he'll show up in some of my other fics eventually. 
> 
> I'm having almost as much trouble ending this end note as I had ending this fic. So. I guess I'm out.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, y'all. I'd like to take this opportunity to say that I have a bunch written for this fic on my end. I expect to have it finished within a week, so updates should not be as... _sporadic_ as they are on my two other WIPs. Cool? Cool.
> 
> Visit me over on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thehoneyedhufflepuff) if you want; mostly I just make a fool of myself & make dumb jokes...regularly. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Working playlist ](https://music.amazon.com/user-playlists/7405b9208c86451da52180f0dfe70097sune?ref=dm_sh_xPdGglz2sSSeQLQcCebxMQj0V)


End file.
